


Stormborn

by mwinterknights12



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Adventure, F/F, F/M, Inner Struggle, Lemon, Loyalty, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Skyrim - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 121,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwinterknights12/pseuds/mwinterknights12
Summary: The White-Gold Concordant has been struck and the major players of Tamriel are on the move. Illia Stormborn find herself to be a pawn in the battle for the throne of Skyrim and the Empire. Sent off to wed Ulfric Stormcloak, the young Nord makes a decision that not only changes her life, but the fate of Tamriel itself.





	1. Chapter 1

__ The light...sometimes she thought she would forget it was even there if it were not for the incoherent colors that shined through her closed lids. The warmth of the sand and the sun; even the sounds of the ocean waves, all of it sent shivers throughout her body. Salt and flowers; the scent of it vibrated her senses. Violently blue eyes opened to drink in the view of the rising sun and navy waves of the Topal Bay. In the distance, she could see the shining walls of the White-Gold tower; a shimmering fortress meant to remind Cyrodiil that she belonged to the Empire. He was her husband and she was his bride. He would never leave her side…

She fiddled with the gold amulet that clung heavily around her throat. Lyanna had done her the kindness of making it a simple chain with just the single pendant. Illia felt her chest ache once more. This was her final day in Cyrodiil...her last day in her home. 

“Illia!” her mother called for her from the balcony of their estate. “You must not remain in the sun!”

Illia sighed as Lyanna once again chastised her. Enjoying her last glance at the tower in the distance, she stood and allowed the sand to fall from her slender hands before making her way back inside the estate. The Stormborn’s home was smaller in comparison to the other nobles’ homes in the province. Natively from Skyrim, the Nordic family had left the region shortly  after the summer that Illia was born. Emperor Tiber Septim the III had considered her father, Japheth, a close friend and ally. As such, he had requested that their family remain just outside the Imperial City. At the time Japheth had been happy to oblige and found Opal Manor to be perfect for their needs. A thick set of stone walls surrounded the home leaving gates in the front entrance and the rear exit. Within the stone were garden that were vibrant with colorful life. It was there and on the shores on the outskirts of the gate where Illia would be found reading her endless novels.

The tales of the Oblivion Crisis, the stories of the Champion, romance, hatred, betrayal, and adventure; all of it filled her heart with a sense of longing for her own story. Yet it was never to be. In his study, she could see Japheth sealing the last of his letters as he ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. It was something he often did when he was nervous. He couldn’t bare the thought of meeting her sorrowful gaze as she watched him from the doorway. 

He hadn’t spoken to her much since the arrangement had been made. He knew it was risky and the best decision for their family, but his daughter had been inconsolable. The thought of leaving her parents, her entire life behind was something she had dreamed of, but it was never for good. She had dreamed of adventuring and fighting, but never  _ this,  _ never of marriage.

When the Empire signed the White-Gold Concordat, she knew they had signed away their freedom to the elves. Her father had returned home drunk and in a rage.

“He signed away our very way of life, Lyanna!” he had screamed as he threw the contents of his desk to and fro. Her mother had stood there calmly as she always did. “To throw away the worship of Talos! These elven dogs!” Her father never looked at Tiber Septim the same way again.

She hadn’t realized that the decision would change her entire life. When rumors of the civil war in Skyrim began to spread, she had thought that it would remain there. General Tullius would dismantle the Stormcloak rebellion and it would be done. Her father, however, began to write furious letters.  Mysterious men began to appear in their home, and she began to feel the tides of change. Japheth didn’t just want change in Skyrim. In his eyes, the Emperor was a weak milk drinker, unworthy of his throne. He began to quietly fund Ulfric’s war, but had pushed the Nord further. 

When the war in Skyrim was done, he would bring the fight to the Empire itself. Japheth would gain the backing of different houses within Cyrodiil, High Rock, Hammerfell, and Orsinium. Ulfric, however, remained uncertain. He had aspirations of gaining Skyrim’s independence and becoming High King, but becoming emperor was hardly a part of that. Japheth wasn’t a counselor to the Emperor for no reason. Once he finished gaining the backing for Ulfric’s war and guaranteeing him a spot as High King of Skyrim; all of the nations would join forces to not only defeat Cyrodiil, but also the High Elves of the Summerset Isles. In other words: Ulfric would not only win his war of independence from the Empire, but also would have his war against the elves. The Jarl could hardly refuse such an offer. However, there was a catch. Japheth was unwilling to lose his status. For generations his family had seeked to grow and maintain it. So, to seal the Stormborns within the ties of nobility, Illia was to be wed to Ulfric.  

Lyanna approached her, dressed head to toe in a blue dress. It was the normal material that most of the women in Cyrodiil wore due to the heat. Thin chiffon clung to the mature woman’s curves, her thick black hair just barely passing her shoulders. Illia looked so much like her with raven locks that had grown past the center of her back years ago. In the years to come, she was certain that she would look nearly identical to the woman. 

“You must remain out of the sun.” she said, softly “You’re supposed to represent your Nordic heritage to Ulfric, not the Imperial you’ve grown up with.” 

Her mother had been pleased with the arrangement, hoping that her only daughter would marry someone of even higher standing. She had hoped that Illia would be arranged to marry one of the Emperor’s heirs, but Japheth refused such thinking after the Concordat was signed. The woman’s gray blue eyes softened as she handed Illia a dark blue dress lined with brown fur. The material was thick and heavy, but well made. 

“Skyrim is not warm like Cyrodiil. When you’re presented to Ulfric, you must wear this with your Amulet of Mara.” she said, her smile warm and filled with excitement “I’m sure he will be pleased. You’re such a beauty, my child. I had a cloak made for you as well.” 

“Thank you.” Illia replied solemnly. Her mother grasped her chin, lifting it up gingerly. 

“Marriage is a wonderful gift, my dear.” she comforted “And soon you will have children! That is the greatest gift of all.” 

Illia remained silent, her stomach churning at the thought of children. The idea of Ulfric having his way with her made her feel faint. She couldn’t stand the thought of it. 

“When do I leave?” was all that she managed to reply.

“This evening.” her mother answered promptly. “The servants have packed the last of your things. Was there anything you wished for them to bring in particular?”

“A few of my books, please.” she replied obediently. “Cera will know which ones to bring.”

“The ones with the darkened pages and folded corners, you mean.” Lyanna chuckled at her daughter “You’ll be able to afford even more books in Skyrim. Our homeland is even richer in her history than Cyrodiil.” 

 

Illia tried to smile, but found herself unable to be genuine. She nodded and began to make her way towards her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she moved to her bed and continued to fiddle with the heavy pendant. 

“Mara…” she began to pray in a whisper as she wiped the welling tears from her eyes.“Mara, forgive me for I have no compassion. I beseech you, grant me your mercy. Either clear me from this path, or fill my heart with love for this man. Please, do not leave me to my fate.” 

A warmth filled her heart, granting her some small peace. She wasn’t sure what her fate had in store for her, but if the gods were willing; she would find her path. 

  
  


_ Five Days Later... _

 

She remembered little about her native homeland. From her memories, she could pull in the scent of rain and mud; They had lived in the borders of Falkreath. The boat churned and buckled beneath her feet as Captain Gallows signaled them to dock on the border. The coast looked nothing like her memories. Snow came down in great waves, nearly blinding her. If she had worn her clothes from Cyrodiil, she would have frozen in a matter of seconds.

“It’s only a few miles to Dark Water Crossing.” Captain Gallows said. The man had gone above and beyond his duty to Ulfric in making her comfortable. His tales of being an adventurer had pict her curiosity. He had travelled to Hammerfell and Valenwood. Somehow, the seasoned sailor had learned the different languages of the elves and even a little Argonian. The captain had been surprised at her thirst for stories and tall tales. 

“So why did you become a sailor?” she had asked “You seemed to love traveling and exploring more.”

“I came across a Forsworn camp over in the Reach.” he had replied, his voice thick with a Western Nordic accent. “I fought off plenty of the bastards, but a damned archer got me in the knee. I barely escaped with my life. Ulfric’s men had found me, and hired me on as a sailor. It’s an honorable profession.” 

“Is he a good man?” Illia had been unable to stop herself from asking “I’ve never even seen him, let alone shared a word with him.”

“Ulfric is a good man, a true Nord.” Gallows explained “He’s not perfect, but he loves his people and would do anything for them. I know nothing of what kind of husband he will be, but he’s a fiercely loyal friend. I think you find happiness with him, m’lady.” 

 

She pulled her hood tightly over her head, shielding her hair and ears from the bitter cold. There wasn’t much on the port except a small shack where fishermen would escape from the frost. Gallows assured her that the weather would become warmer as they approached the center of the land. Windhelm, however, would be littered with endless blankets of snow. She would have to learn to love it. Dead trees and evergreen pines were a blur in the distant fog, but along the road, she could make out a covered carriage. Gallows guided her, taking her hand to help her step into the carriage.

“Good bye, m’lady.” he said with a warm smile “It’s been an honor to meet the future High Queen on Skyrim.”

 

_ A Few Hours Later… _

 

The smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air. Illia nearly flew out of her seat with the sudden jolt of the carriage. She could hear the Stormcloak soldiers that surrounded her carriage beginning to bark orders at one another. But the air was still, and silent. There were no greeting, or fighting. It was the silence that set her teeth on edge. Ignoring her instincts to remain inside the carriage, she opened the door and was immediately greeted with the harsh cold. Stepping out of the cover, a soldier approached her.

“M’lady, it would be best if you remained inside.” 

“What ever is the matter?” she asked, before noticing the crimson coloring that was staining the landscape. Beneath thin layers of snow, frozen corpses of Stormcloaks and Imperials littered the ground in shallow graves. Broken arrows and scorched patches of dirt surrounded them. “What happened here?”

“It seems that there was an ambush.” he replied quietly “Jarl Ulfric was supposed to meet us here.”

“Is he-”

“I don’t know m’lady. His body doesn’t appear to be among the dead.” the young man replied “We’ll need to leave this place. You’re not safe here. Windhelm, that would be the best place for you to remain until we hear news of Ulfric.” 

  
  


_ Six Days Later… _

 

The dresses in Windhelm were even warmer than the one her mother had given her. The thick cotton was adorned white with blue flowers. Her raven curls had been pulled back into a loose up-do that allowed strand of hair to hang in her face as she paced the halls within the Palace of Kings. In her dark room, she had been praying endlessly to Mara that she would be able to return home, or have some chance of escape. 

Finally, she sat down in her bed chamber. Ulfric had made sure that she would be comfortable. A dark oak vanity and wardrobe remained side by side so she would have access to all her outer needs. The bed, although cold, was comfortable enough. She wasn’t sure if there was much anyone could do for the evening chill. She had received a few letters. Ulfric and his men had been captured and taken to Helgen. Not long after, the city had been destroyed and his men escaped. As to whether or not Ulfric had survived, no one knew. The most concerning of all of the missives they had received was from a small shanty town called Riverwood. Scouts reported that soldiers from Whiterun had gone there as a defense against a dragon. 

She could hardly believe it. A dragon...none had been seen in Skyrim for a millennium. After the Great Dragon War, they were thought to be extinct. The attack from the Imperials had also come as a surprise, and it had left Illia with a pit in her stomach. If the Imperials knew to attack Ulfric there, did they know why? Was her family now in greater danger? There was no way that Ulfric could protect them in the capital. There had to be some way to keep her family safe. Her presence couldn’t remain a secret for long. Whispering servants, internal spies in Ulfric’s assembly; the Empire would find out one way or another. If they had discovered the intentions of Ulfric’s trip to Dark Water Crossing then surely she would have word of her parents’ arrest in Cyrodiil. But word from home had remained silent. But for how long would it remain that way? 

 

Illia knew that she had no choice. She was going to have to leave, or risk placing her family in danger. She could easily slip away, around the palace servants left fur clothing around. It was doubtful that she would draw much attention dressed in such a manner. Over the passing days, she had managed to store away some gold and non perishables in one of her older satchels. When she had finally stolen a dagger from the blacksmith, she knew she was ready. After paying off one of the stable boys to have a horse ready for her, she would ride off  towards Whiterun: the neutral territory. She could remain there for weeks, hidden from both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. Perhaps when Ulfric had won the war, she would return to marry him. She owed her family that at least. 

 

After changing into the heavy leather slacks and warm, dark furs, she began to write a letter in her finest script. Ulfric deserved a letter of explanation should he return.

  
  


_ Jarl Ulfric, _

_ Please do not take my absence as any form of contempt for you. I am aware of my duties as not only your future wife, but to my family as well. Surely you will understand. I have heard the stories from your men of how you left the monks of High Hrothgar when your people called for your aid. If anyone could understand the position that I am in, it would be you.  _

_ The attack at DarkWater Crossing brought many things to my attention. Things in Skyrim are not as peaceful as the rumors in Cyrodiil have made them out to be. You are strong and honorable in your cause and as such, you are a threat to the Emperor Tiber Septim the III. You are a worthy man to follow. However, you are not yet ascended to power. This places my family at great risk. If the Imperials know of what your intentions were at Dark Water Crossing, then my family is in grave danger. However, the lack of news of their arrest tells me that my being in Skyrim has remained a secret. But as all nobles know, spies are everywhere and servants whisper. And thus to remain a secret, I will become no one of value in Skyrim.  _

_ My plans are to remain in Whiterun until the present time when you ascend to power. I will continue to send letters to my parents informing them of my safety and your honor, so you will not lose your backing. When the time comes that General Tullius falls, I will return to you and we will fulfill the promise that you have arranged with my parents. I am no stranger to the duties of family, but their safety matters most to me.  _

_ As a stranger to my native land, I hope to take my time getting to know our people. I want to understand Skyrim and her people. If I am to be a queen then I shall work to be worthy of Skyrim; I shall work to be worthy of you.  _

 

__ __ __ __ _ With Great Affection, _

__ __ __ __ __ __ _ Illia Stormborn _

  
With her letter written and left in Ulfric’s chamber, she wrapped her mother’s cloak around her and shrouded her face with its hood. The guards hardly noticed her as she slipped behind corners and crevices. Once in the city, she walked freely, avoiding people as she exited the city gates and made her way towards the Windhelm stables. As promised, a horse was saddled and waiting for her. Straddling the noble steed, she seized the reigns. With a sharp kick, the creature sprinted off towards the west leaving Windhelm behind her in a burst of snow.


	2. Chapter 2

The stars began to slowly fade, revealing the shining light of the sun and leaving Illia blinded as her horse slowly trekked the roads. Guilt tugged her heart from her knowing that she had road the poor creature hard throughout the night. But there was no chance to stop. Despite her aching thighs and rear, she needed to keep moving, not giving the chance for Ulfric’s men to find her. The more distance she put between them, the better off she was. 

Finally out of the eastern region of Skyrim, she was relieved to see rolling valleys adorned with grass. The river that she had been traveling by seemed to grow more vicious, hitting steep rocks that formed strong, dangerous rapids that could easily destroy anything in its path. In the distance, she could see different farms surrounding a great walled city: Whiterun. Through the morning fog, she could make out the top of Dragonsreach. She had only heard stories of the palace that had once been home to a dragon. To see it in person, even from a distance, was awe inspiring. 

“Just a little bit farther.” she whispered to her steed, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. The steed had stopped a moment to breathe and she used the time to pet its neck and mane with affection. “You seem like you’d be a Eorleith.” The steed snorted in response and Illia couldn’t help but laugh. “So it’s settled, Eorleith. Once we get to the city, you’ll be well taken care of at the stable.” 

With a gentle prod, the horse continued onward. As they approached the outskirts of the city, the smell of honey and mead permeated the air. The sound of Illia’s growling stomach rang in her ears, her cheeks turning red in fear of someone overhearing it. She nodded to some guards who waved in her direction, showing the lady respect. She smiled. The people in Whiterun seemed a bit friendlier than the people in Windhelm. 

 

She was approaching closer towards the city when a violent crash sent her falling from her horse. Eorleith whined in terror before taking off in the opposite direction towards the guards, who tried to catch him. Illia swallowed back the tears from the large pain that ran up the length of her side. She swore and picked herself up slowly before looking to see what all the fuss was about. Not thirty feet from her was a giant. The gray skinned beast was gargantuan with a club the size of its forearm (which was about as tall as she was). Below him, two warriors were working to fight him off. 

A man with steel armor swung a great sword in the direction of the beast, narrowly missing him. Sweat drenched his brow, smearing his navy blue warpaint that surrounded his handsome silver irises. Even with a giant next to him, he strong protruding muscles were fierce to look upon. Next to him, a Red Guard woman was blocking another swing from the giant’s club with a hide shield. In her other hand, she swiped a steel sword across the lower bicep of the beast, causing him to cry out in pain and swing at her once more.

“Ria, be careful!” The Nord warrior shouted from the other side of their foe “If I don’t bring you back in one piece, Vilkas will have my head on a silver platter!” 

An arrow pierced the shoulder of the giant from out of nowhere. Illia’s eyes searched in the direction from where the weapon had been fired. Another thirty feet away from the beast, an archer with fiery red hair was preparing to fire once more. She was nearly as pale as Illia, but she was more muscular than the nineteen year old. 

“Farkus, you worry too much.” she called out from the distance “Ria, go for the inner thigh. It has a weak point  near there!”

“Every man has a weak point near there!” Ria replied in a laugh. The girl ducked trying to slash down the leg, but to no avail. Illia watched as the beast began to swing once again, grazing the hair on the top of Ria’s head. What do I do, Illia asked herself. Her blue eyes darted around looking for anything she could use to distract the giant so the warriors could finish it off. Guards, who now noticed the giant, surrounded her and began to fire arrows at the beast. However, one missed and pierced Farkus in the shoulder. The warrior swore angrily, looking like he was going to tear the guards apart next, but his silver eyes remained fixed on his foe. 

Illia was now even more desperate to find a way to help. The guards were going to end up killing the warriors at the rate they were firing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a grain mill. It was at least five feet away from the giant, but it gave the girl an idea. Grasping the dagger from out of her satchel, she ran head first towards the giant. The creature, now in a furious rage, was swinging without thought. Farkus jumped flat onto his stomach as his enemy’s club came flying in his direction, and in the process, came at full force into Illia’s path.

“Look out!” he called, noticing the raven haired woman. She ducked and screamed, the club hitting a fence instead of her, but she kept running towards the grain mill. In a huff, she leaped up, grasping a copper pipe that circled the roof of the mill. Using every ounce of strength that she had, she pulled herself onto the roof of the mill, feeling her muscle rip and ache as she made the climb. 

The archer, noticing what Illia was doing, began to fire a barrage of arrows at the giant. With the distraction in place, Illia was now barely standing over the giant from atop the mill. Her heart was pounding in her chest, the blood rushing to her face and causing her to tremble. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

“Here goes nothing.” she muttered and then leaped. Landing on the shoulders of the giant, the creature began to scream and tried to fling her away. Illia held on to the point that her knuckles were white and she felt like her hands might bleed. Then she remembered the dagger in her hand. Without much thought at to where she was stabbing, she began to pierce the giant over and over again. Blood gushed from the open wound, soaking her clothes and hands. Below her, she could feel the giant crying out in agony. This time, he dropped his club and grasped the small girl by her waist. She tried to stab his hand, making the giant even angrier. His hand wrapped around her tightly, making her feel as though her bones were cracking. Weakened from the loss of blood, he only managed to toss her across the farm field. 

She landed painfully against one of the fences that surrounded the area. The deadly sound of one of her ribs cracking deafened her ears as she began to scream in agony. Tears poured in rivers down her cheeks as pieces of the fence pierced her shoulder and sides. Her shoulder looked contorted, gushing with blood and immediately bruising. Her vision blurred as she realized blood was pouring from her head, but she watched as the giant collapsed in the distance. An echo of metal clamoring against the ground was a murmur in her ear as she slowly began to fade in and out consciousness. 

Farkus and a group of guards had immediately ran to her side. Her poor body was broken and bruised. Blood was soaking the ground around her, pooling into a dark crimson puddle. The Nord began to tear through his satchel, and exhaled in relief at the sight of a healing potion. She would still need to see the priestess over in the temple, but she wouldn’t die on the way there. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth before roughly placing the bitter smelling bottle to Illia’s lips. Bitter and reeking of lavender, Illia choked on the liquid, but managed to swallow enough for her wounds to stop bleeding. 

“We’ll have to take her to the Temple of Kynareth.” Farkus said to an approaching Aela. The archer nodded, looking the girl up and down with an intense gaze.

“She seems strong.” the woman said as she spat on the ground “Strong, but untrained. She could make for a decent Shield-Sister, should she survive of course.” 

The Red Guard woman, Ria, approached with wide brown eyes. Sweat poured in sparkling beads down her chest and forehead. Her red war paint was smeared across her cheek along with the blood of her foe.

“Is she gonna die?” she asked

“I think she’ll survive.” Aela replied “Go back to Jorrvaskr and tell Vilkas what happened. I’m sure your betrothed will be happy to see you in one piece.”

  
  
  


Smoke and ash clouded the air in a thick fog on the outskirts of the city. The wind in the plains was free to release its war cry with no trees to block its fury. In the distance, black blooms from sulfur and burning fabric could be seen rising above the gates of the Western Watch Tower. Joriell swallowed hard, but tried to keep his composure with the presence of Jarl Balgruuf’s housecarl being nearby.

“There’s no sign of him…” Irileth said quietly, but the subtle metallic taste of fear could be picked up in the tone of her voice. “But the bastard sure has been here.”

“We should look for survivors.” Joriell said, grateful that his voice had managed not to tremble. 

 

The first time he had seen the dragon in Helgen, he had been at the headman’s axe. He had prayed to the gods, something that he hadn’t done since his mother died. The Divine’s had some sense of humor. Just as he was looking death in the face, a black dragon, fierce and mighty, had unleashed its destruction unto the entire city. Its voice had rang clear, bringing the very sky to its knees as it drowned the unsuspecting townsfolk with balls of fire and smoke. That was when the Stormcloak, Ralof, had brought him to his feet.

“Get up, brother!” he had cried “The gods have answered our prayers.”

He had been dragged into the watchtower with more of the rebel soldiers. A booming voice had caught his attention, willing him to bend his knee.

“Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?” Ralof had begged for a different answer, anything to free him from his nightmare. “Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages.” Ulfric had replied, his tone grave. Joriell could hardly believe that he was standing in the face of the Stormcloak leader, the starter of the rebellion. He had heard the rumors of Ulfric’s Thu’um and how he used it to slay High King Torygg in single combat. But before him stood just a man, not some god or murderer as he had been made out to be. And he was a man that was concerned with the life of his troops and a stranger that had been dragged into their war. 

“We need to move now!” Ulfric boomed.

Ralof didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled at Joriell, dragging him up through the tower until the dragon attacked them, unleashing its flames on the broken soldiers who were already weary from their ambush. On the opposite side of the tower, an inn could be seen from the wound the dragon had left in the stone. The soldier had pushed him to jump and the next thing Joriell knew, he was landing painfully on his back as he fell through the building’s floor. The tattered robes on the his back began to burn as the flames began to lick his flesh, leaving him screaming and rolling the floor. He managed to keep narrowly avoiding the dragon and reuniting with Ralof in the keep. The pair escaped together and retreated to Riverwood where Ralof’s sister, Gerder, had treated his wounds. Now, deep scars riddled his shoulders and back, forever reminding him of what he survived. It wasn’t long after that Gerder asked for his aid. The small town was barely a mile away from Helgen. With no soldiers or any way to defend themselves, the townsfolk needed the Jarl’s troops. Feeling indebted to the woman, Joriell had travelled to Whiterun.

Jarl Balgruuf was an honorable man, and had been more than willing to hear Joriell out (and ignore the fact that he had been placed under arrest by General Tullius), and immediately dispatched a detachment to Riverwood. But the man had even greater plans for Joriell. After sending the troops to the shanty town, he then sent Joriell to his court wizard. The mage had examined Joriell with an stone-like expression, but decided to send him to Bleak Falls Barrow. There he would find an ancient tablet that would contain information regarding the different dragon burial sites around Skyrim. Hopefully through that, they could learn how to better defend themselves against the dragons and where they were coming from. 

The expedition had been hard and treacherous. Bandits had been something he had prepared for. Luckily, he had had training from his father in fending them off. Draugr, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. The undead had been ruthless, testing him physically in ways that he hadn’t thought were possible. But finally, he had made it to the inner sanctum. 

At one point in time the room would have probably been used to worship ancient dragons. The air vibrated with a hidden magic that set Joriell’s teeth on edge. That was when he finally noticed the wall. Ancient carvings lined the great marble slab in a language that was foreign to him. But in the winds, he thought he could hear the sounds of the ancient Nords calling for him, drawing him ever more near to the strange language that now had begun to glow. His fingers barely grazed the stone, brushing gently across one word that would make itself known to him.

 

**_Fus_ **

 

The word had burned itself into his mind, making him gasp on air with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Glowing blue symbols buried itself within his blood, sending him into a strange euphoria. But the high had only lasted a moment. Behind him, thick stone had cracked, causing an ancient tomb to burst once more to life. A Draugr, different from the rest , emerged from his sarcophagus armed to the teeth with a great Nordic axe. Before Joriell had time to even absorb what had just occurred, he was charging at him with no mercy to be given. 

The axe nicked Joriell’s shoulder before he could completely dodge out of its path. Growling in frustration, the young Nord came sprinting with his steel sword in hand. The Draugr, however, had a different idea for him entirely. Foreign words that sounded like some sort of demonic spell poured from the Draugr’’s undead lips, and suddenly Joriell’s sword was flying out of his hand. The blade skidded across the stone floor, leaving Joriell unarmed and in a perfect position to be struck down. The dark, rusted blade of the axe came tumbling in Joriell’s direction, but the warrior managed to move, just in time for the blade to collide painfully with the stone and shatter. Seizing his chance, Joriell rushed over to his missing blade and grasped it, completing his arm. With a devilish grin, he turned to the Draugr. With a single swipe, the undead warrior’s head came tumbling from his shoulders in a bloody heap. 

Joriell exhaled with a sigh of relief and then began to examine the coffin that the Draugr had emerged from. Inside was the stone tablet that the court wizard had spoken of. Wasting no more time in the bloody tomb, Joriell stored away the tablet in his satchel and made his way back to Dragonsreach. 

  
  


Now, here he was facing the demon that haunted his dreams. Ireleth signaled the men standing behind them to spread out and look for survivors. Joriell swallowed hard and followed behind, wondering how many of these men would lose their lives to the dragon. The wind around them stirred slightly, setting every man’s teeth on edge. But out of the disturbing silence came a soldier, trying to run for his life. 

No! Get ba-” as quickly as he appeared, he vanished as a wisp of a silver dragon descended upon the men, clutching the soldier in his claws as she ascended once more into the clouds. A horn sounded, raising the alarm for all of the men in the surrounding area to be prepared for another surprise attack. Soldiers dressed in yellow garb were an easy target for the dov. Swooping down once more, she unleashed a rainstorm of fire onto the men with ease before disappearing once more into the clouds. Agonizing screams that seemed to beg for the gift of a quick death echoed throughout the field, but the dov would grant them no such mercy. 

The ground shook as she landed, sending Joriell flying off of his feet. In all of her glory, the dragon was magnificent. Grey, black, and silver scales traced down the thin silhouette of her spine. Adorned with sharp, black horns; she looked more like a radiant queen that was fit for royalty. No wonder the ancient Nords had worshiped them without complaint. Who would dare defy such an radiant, immortal spirit? Her mere presence could compel men to their knees. But for all her beauty, she was just as deadly. 

_ “Hi wo would call dii qalos, luft dii nah!”  _ the words trailed from her trembling lips as she breathed more vibrant flames onto the helpless soldiers. Regaining his courage, Joriell sprinted head on at the creature, sword and shield at the ready. She turned to his direction, fire at the ready. Using his banded iron shield, he avoided most of the flames, the flames barely licking his shins. A moment, so quick that he nearly missed it, a pause in her endless attacks. With a simple swing, his blade grazed the base of her throat, nicking the surface of her silvery skin. She called out, her green eyes blazing an even more vibrant shade of green as her fury grew. She whipped her wing in his direction, sending him off of his feet once more. Ireleth, however, was not nearly as impressed by the dragon’s rage. 

“Taste the wrath of Azura!” she called out to the dov; her voice was dripping with venom. Violent, purple electricity formed into a single orb within her darkened, elven hands. With a flick of her wrist, it exploded into multiple shards of glowing light that were sprinting in the direction of the beast. Vibrant electric shocks caused the creature to squirm and seize in agony. Without a second of hesitation, Joriell watched as she readied herself to blast more violence onto Irileth with her powerful words. The Nord sprinted towards Irileth, managing to shield her just in time for another attack. 

“How did they defeat the last one?” Irileth asked in a panic.

“They didn’t!” Joriell said, pushing back against the violence. There was another brief pause in her rage. Taking the opportunity, Joriell bashed against her muzzle and swung his blade. This time the steel left a deep, bloody gash across the dragon’s eye. Half blind, the dov once again withdrew into sky. 

 

This time, she remained within range, unable to determine how close she was to the ground. The men, regaining themselves, began to unleash a barrage of arrows onto the nightmare. Calling out in agony, the dragon collapsed as multiple arrows shredded her wings. Her body collapsed heavily onto the ground, causing the earth to tremble beneath their feet and causing them to fall. In the distance, Joriell could hear the remains of the burning fort tumble in a heap. Determination lighting a fire in his forest colored eyes, the young man was back on his feet and launching at full force at the dov. With the dragon now dizzy, Joriell sliced her face once more before grasping her muzzle and jumping to the top of her crown. The dragon tried to throw the warrior off of her, but it was too late. With an unrelenting grip, he sliced and stabbed his back into her throat. Blood gushed, flooding the insides of his armor with the warm, crimson liquid. The corpse of the great beast fell in defeat with Joriell following suit. 

Dusting the dirt from his knees, Joriell finally exhaled a breath of relief. The air felt lighter and he could finally feel every muscle in his body aching. Yet, it wasn’t the end. A soft warm glow of light began to flood his eyes. Sunset colors bleed through the smoke and ash that floated in the air, and once again the faint whispers of the ancients began to echo in his ears, growing louder with each passing moment. To his disbelief, the scales and flesh of the dragon began to burn away from the bones and the wind surrounding him began to roar. His molten hot aura ripped through his body, causing him to collapse once more. But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.

“Joriell!” Irileth called out as she ran to him with three soldiers following behind. “Are you alright?”

On the opposite side of him, a soldier touched his shoulder. Joriell went to speak, but instead of reassurances that he was alright; an unknown word passed through his lips in a hoarse scream. The soldier was launched off of his feet, several feet in the opposite direction. Irileth stopped dead in her tracks. But one of the men, a burly one whose face was stained black with ash approached Joriell slowly. His face was astonished as though he could hardly believe it. 

“You’re-You’re the Dragonborn.”

  
  
  


Illia awoke in a warm bed. Her blue eyes fluttered, the soft candle light a relief to her throbbing head. Sitting up slowly, she touched the back of her head to feel a tender, healed scar in the place where she had been bleeding. Her shoulder only slightly ached along with her ribs, which were now fully healed. She was no longer in her stolen fur clothes, but a black robe that didn’t reek of blood and sweat. Next to her, Farkus was sharpening a dagger.

“You’re finally awake.” he said, his silver eyes intensely watching her. On the nightstand next to her, he handed her a wooden cup. Placing it in her hands, she could see a thick, brown liquid that smelled faintly of mint and honey. “Tilda said it would help with the headache. You took quite a beating.” 

“Thank you.” she said quietly as she swallowed the drink. It was sweet, tasting more like lavender than mint or honeysuckle. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Jorrvaskr, the hall of the Companions.” Farkus replied proudly, his eyes glowing with esteem. “My name is Farkus. And you?”

“Illia.” she replied sheepishly. “Forgive me, but who are the Companions?”

“You’ve never heard of us?”

“I’m ashamed to say no. I grew up outside of Skyrim, so I know very little about her history.” 

“The Companions are a band of warriors who fight for honor and glory.” he replied “You were strong. Not many would have taken the risk you did today.”

“You’re too kind.” she replied “But I’m hardly a warrior. I’ve never even held a sword before.”

“Perhaps you could change that.” Farkus replied sweetly “If you want, you could talk to Kodlak about joining us.”

“Who is Kodlak?”

“Our leader...well leader isn’t the correct word.” Farkus said thoughtfully “He’s more like an advisor. No one is the boss of anyone in the Companions.”

 

The idea tugged on Illia’s heart. She had always dreamed of being a heroine, of learning how to handle herself in battle. Her mother  had always refrained from teaching her about anything regarding a weapon despite the fact that she was an excellent marksman. The offer was more than tempting. 

“                                                                                                               Where can I speak to this Kodlak?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it's the second chapter and it's a long one. I had so much fun writing it and finally introducing Joriell. I'm so surprised and excited over the support I've already gotten from just one chapter. I'll be trying to upload one chapter a week. Please comment. I know some people may be wondering when the smutty chapters will happen (stayed tuned, it will happen eventually, and well worth it). Again, thank you everyone again!! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Joriell pulled his blade from the throat of the frost troll. Red blood and green mucus dotted across the snowy mountain side as he kicked the beast over the peak. Taking a piece of gray cloth, he wiped his sword clean before sheathing it once more. He had been traveling up the seven thousand steps since dawn. The initial hike had been easy going. The weather had been warm. The trees had been filled with different colors of orange, yellow, and red. But as he ascended up the mountain, the air had grown thinner and the wind was like ice. His fur cloak barely shielded him from the unrelenting winter air. But he could see his destination.

High Hrothgar was enormous. Outside, the great, slate gray stone was decorated with monuments of dragon skulls. But the cathedral seemed as though it wasn’t being maintained. Empty chests and broken bottles lined the lower part of the monument. Was this really where the Greybeards lived? 

 

But it wasn’t at if he had much room to judge. He was just a nobody from a farm on the outskirts of the mainland. His father, who he had been taking care of for some time, had finally fallen to his illness. After seeing him a proper burial, Joriell was forced to sell their home in order to pay off his father’s debts.Yet, here he was, climbing up the Throat of the World to answer the call of the Greybeards.

In what world did this happen to him? He could hardly believe it was true; perhaps he was still dreaming. Since when did a farm boy become a legendary warrior? But if the Greybeards thought that he was it, then who was he to deny them?

He made his way farther up the stairs and slowly opened the doors to High Hrothgar. Inside, the monastery was  dark and damp. The air was only slightly warmer from the outside. 

“Hello!” he called out.

“Hello, Dragonborn.” an elder voice replied from the dark. An old man with a gray beard with walked out from shadows into the light. His dark, purple robes were tattered and torn. “So it seems as though a Dragonborn would appear now, at this time, at the turning of the age. But before we begin, we must test your Thu’um; your shout. Come. Let us taste your voice.”

Joriell was hesitant as he thought of the soldier he had launched across the field. But the old man seemed intent on testing his voice. So, Joriell spoke the ancient word at the old man, who was thrust back, but maintained his stance.

“Ah, it is a privilege, Dragonborn.” the man said with a smile “I am Master Arngeir. Are you ready to begin your training?”

Joriell felt a twinge of fear, but something inside of him calmed his anxious heart. His blood knew the call; it was ready to learn.

“Yes. I’m ready.” 

  
  


_ Three Months Later... _

 

“Watch your footing.” Vilkas said once again as Illia jumped up and kicked into his shield. Over the past three months, the warrior had taught the small girl how to use her size to her advantage. After building up her strength, she learned quickly how leap and maneuver around her opponent. Eventually, she would be able to throw him off balance and gain the advantage. However, this all depended on her endurance and ability to maintain her own equilibrium. 

“Good.” He said as she cartwheeled over his shoulder and used the hilt of her dagger to signify a blow to his back. If she had actually pierced him with the blade, it would have not only struck through his heart but also his lung. 

“I learned from the best.” she said with a grin. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she walked over and grasped a sheep skin canteen and took a swig from it. Much had changed during her time with the Companions. Although, she had not been trained in swordplay, Vilkas had taught her a great deal about using knives and daggers. The smaller, lighter weapons did much greater damage with her fighting technique. Not only that, but Aela had taught her how to handle a bow. Now she was even managing to impress the huntress. “But you’re never this complimentary. Not unless there is bad news. What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Ria.” he said sitting on one of the benches outside of Jorrvaskr. “That woman is driving me mad. She doesn’t catch on to the techniques and so I have to spend more and more time teaching her how to wield a damn blade.”

“And you’re saying that like its a bad thing.” Illia said with a laugh

“It takes time out of your training.”

“Well, you are soon to be bound together.” she replied “And I’m not blind, it makes sense for you to want to see her too despite your need to say otherwise. I’ll train more with Farkus and Aela.”

“No, you have been my most promising student.” he replied “Illia, you’re talented and you put your heart into everything you do.  You’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

 

“Your time has come, newblood.” Skjor said before Vilkas could reply. At one point, Skjor’s appearance had intimidated Illia. The man was blind in one eye with a thick, red scar that trailed down the length of his face. Like Vilkas and many others in the Circle, he was adorned in heavy Wolf armor. Most of Companions were like Skjor. All of them having various scars and tattered, worn armor that had seen its fair share of battles.“ You and Farkus shall go to Dustman’s Cairn and recollect one of the fragments of Wuuthrad. Honors demands that we retrieve it.”

It wasn’t the first time she had heard of the great axe of Ysgramor. Long ago, the warrior had led the Companions, yet no one had be named leader in quite some time. Instead, the Harbinger, a wise and seasoned warrior, served as an advisor to the band of fighters. However, every individual ruled himself within the Companions. Wuuthrad had been Ysgramor’s weapon and as such, the group had taken on the charge of collecting its pieces.

“I would be honored to retrieve it.”

“Don’t get soft on me, whelp. Just get the fragment and try not to get yourself or Farkus killed.” Skjor said before taking his leave. Vilkas stood now, pulling a thin blade from his side.

“I had Eorlund forge this for you in preparation for this trial.” he said handing it to her. The dagger was as big as the length of her forearm. The metal itself was engraved with ancient ruins from the Skyforge that seemed to strengthen the metal. Skyforge steel was priceless. 

“Thank you.”

“Just try not to lose it.” he said with a smile “And remember your training.”

 

~~~

“Again.” Arngeir said once more. Joriell sucked in another breath. The Words of Power were exhausting. He felt as though he was drowning in cold sweat. His chest burned from the Dragon language. Master Arngeir had explained to him what it really meant to be the Dragonborn. When he found one of the Words of Power, a word that is spoken in dragon tongue; the word would implant itself into his memory. After absorbing a dragon’s soul, he would also take in the memory and understanding of the word. In the tomb, the wall he had discovered had planted a Word of Power into his mind without his realizing it. However, dragons weren’t exactly lying about for him to slay and gather knowledge from. So the Greybeards had decided it would be best to train him by having him tap into their knowledge of the language. The process was ...exhausting. Tapping into the knowledge of the Greybeards felt unnatural. He would have to sort through the blurriness of their memories, trying to focus solely on the wisdom they had gained from studying the ancient texts. “Come Dragonborn, once more.” 

Joriell focused his energy, allowing the words to once again come to his mind. He straightened his back and felt the heat from his chest begin to escape his throat.

“ **_Feim Zii Gron._ ** ” the words fell from his tongue and slowly its effects took place. His body began to morph and change into an  ethereal form. At that, Master Arngeir shouted at him, but Joriell found himself to be unharmed.

“Very good, Dragonborn.” Arngeir said, sitting down. The shouts were also difficult on his aging body. “Come, take a rest.”

Joriell was relieved that they were finally taking a break. The past three months had been difficult. But his body felt stronger despite the wear and tear. The knowledge he had gained from the dragon also had some mild effects on him. Not only did he take in each aspect of the word, he also took on the aspects of the Greybeards and the dragon he defeated in battle. Sometimes, he would catch himself mimicking Arngeir outside of his lessons. The feeling of the dragon’s soul was different though. While he was sleeping, it would grant him visions of the future. Every night, he dreamed of the same black dragon that had attacked Helgen. Not only that, but visions of Ulfric Stormcloak and a burning city. The visions troubled him a great deal, leaving him to wonder if he would lose himself to the dragon’s soul.

“Dragonborn, I believe that you have mastered all that we can teach you in your time here.” Arngeir began “However, you will need more training if you are to begin your quest of hunting the dragons and to continue your pursuit of knowledge in the Way of the Voice.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must learn true combat. You will have many enemies Dragonborn. Your shouts exhaust your body so you cannot solely rely on them. You must learn combat outside of the Voice.” Arngeir explained “We are old men, we cannot help you in that pursuit. Although we would prefer for you to remain with High Hrothgar and study under the Way of the Voice, I have a feeling your path is going to lead you elsewhere.” 

“Then where shall I go?”

“You will return to Whiterun. There you will find an order of warriors known as the Companions. Go to them. They shall guide your way.” 

Joriell was quiet for a moment, trying to absorb what his master was saying to him. Could he really do this? Learning Words of Power was one thing. But actively hunting dragons and absorbing their soul was another. How was he to do this?

“Master, as I’ve continued my training, I can feel bits of yours and the other masters’ souls. And I can feel the dragon’s soul that I had already taken.” he began “I can feel the power of it and the knowledge, but it’s as though it’s still living within me. How am I to control that?”

“That is something you must learn for yourself Dragonborn. We Greybeards do not learn the Voice in the same way that you do. We must meditate on the Words of Power for years before we can truly absorb their meaning. We do not absorb souls directly from dragons.”

Joriell pondered this. There wasn’t much for the Greybeards to teach him on how to be the Dragonborn. He could learn Words of Power, but they couldn’t teach him to control visions, to control the souls, or to maintain his spirit. They could only guide him so far in his destiny.

“When do I leave for Whiterun?”

 

~~~

Dustman’s Cairn was an old dusty tomb that seemed as though it was going to fall apart. Part of Illia felt as though she were a grave robber. Farkus didn’t seem the least bit bothered by entering the hall of the dead. Inside, the tomb reeked of rot and old bones. She thought she was going to choke on the dry air. 

“Where is this fragment of Wuuthrad supposed to be?” she asked Farkus, covering her mouth and nose with her forearm.

“Some mage from the College of Winterhold said it could be located in the main chamber.” Farkus replied “ Not sure where that is exactly.” 

“At least it’s warmer in here.” 

“Well of course it is. You’re wearing some of the lightest armor I’ve ever seen a person wear in Skyrim.”

Farkus wasn’t exaggerating.  Eorlund had constructed her a new armor made of brown leather and wool. The lighter make made it much easier for her to move in a battle. Plus, he had made sure for her to have plenty of straps to hold her daggers. The only downfall was that the armor didn’t protect her from as much damage and she needed her mother’s cloak to keep warm in the winter regions. 

“Not all of us like to be covered in giant hunks of metal.” she said in a teasing tone and continued down the empty halls. After coming across some stairs, they made their way down to a small burial chamber. Lining the walls, the corpses of the ancient dead slept in the dark slumber. 

“What are these?” she asked quietly 

“This is one of the many ancient tombs in Skyrim. Some of the dead used to worship the dragons. But I don’t think any of Dragon Priests are buried in these tombs. They were dishonored in the eyes of the ancient Nords.” 

“Huh.” she muttered walking closer to the other end of the hall. Taking a step, she felt her foot slightly sink into the ancient stones. There was a click of some type of contraption when a giant wall of spikes tried to slam into her. But Farkus reacted faster. Grasping her by her waist, he quickly moved her out of the range of the swinging wall just seconds before it slammed into her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, letting her loose. 

“I think s-” she said stopping in mid sentence as she heard the dead begin to stir. One of the many bodies awoke itself from its slumber and stood upright behind Farkus. It drew its sword and came at him, but Illia had already launched herself over Farkus’ shoulder. She kicked the corpse back, sending it backwards and landing on the trap button. Before it could move, the trap reactivated and shot the carcase. The wall of spikes slammed the dead body against the wall, finally silencing it for good. But more had begun to wake.

“Draugr!” Farkus called out as he unsheathed his sword. Illia did the same, unsheathing two of her six daggers. In a full sprint, she ran up Farkus’ back and jumped onto one of the awaken Draugr and brought her blade down on its head. The corpse gave out a deadly cry before ceasing to be a threat. Farkus had already taken out two with a single swing of his great sword. Illia was just about to take out another one when she saw a burly restless Draugr making its way to attack Farkus while he was busy fighting off two others. 

“Farkus!” she called out before tossing one of her daggers and narrowly missing Farkus. The blade struck the Draugr and saved Farkus from an untold amount of damage but at a price. The enemy in front of her swung its great axe at her, piercing her in her side before she had a chance to move away. Illia cried out as blood gushed from her gaping wound. If it hadn’t been for her armor, she was sure the axe would have sliced her in half. 

She fell down in a heap, her head spinning from the loss of blood. The Draugr laughed at her pain and raised its axe in anticipation of bringing the giant blade down on her, but she managed to roll out of the way before the blade sliced her in half. She kicked out at its feet, the adrenaline in her body was the only thing keeping her moving. The Draugr was too slow to dodge the attack and fell in a damaging heap. Illia seized the advantage and leaped on top of the body and plunged her dagger into its eye. The Draugr screamed and corroded in a heap. Illia almost fell over from lightheadedness. Farkus finished off the restless Draugr before rushing over to her side.

“You foolish girl, you almost got yourself killed.” he said rushing to grasp a healing potion from one of his pouches. He ripped off the cork of it using his teeth and pressed the vial to her lips. She swallowed the foul tasting liquid and began to cough as she finished it. “If you die, Vilkas will kill me.” Illia laughed, the lightheadedness already beginning to fade. She checked her side to see that the wound was quickly beginning to heal.

“That’s definitely going to scar.” she said with a laugh. Slowly, she stood up, already feeling back to her normal self. “Marta bless alchemists. Come on, we shouldn’t waste more time.”

 

They continued on the path, far more careful now to not trigger any traps, when they entered a room with  three doors. Two of them were gated, but the other one remained open. Inside of that room was lever to lift the gates of the other doors. Illia walked over to it and found several healing potions that she quickly put inside her satchel. She then pulled the lever. Before she could even move, the gate to the small room she was in had already fallen. She cursed, trying to push the lever back into position, but it was stuck.

“Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Farkus said with a laugh “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” 

Farkus turned to find the other lever to open the door when a group of men suddenly surrounded him. 

“So we finally caught you, beast.” a Redguard man said in a sickening sneer.

“Which one is that?” a woman asked

“Not sure, but it doesn’t matter the beast is going to die.”

Illia tried to push up against the gate, anything to get it to lift up. Farkus was a great warrior, but not even he could take on eight men by himself. Yet, he seemed eerily calm.

“You don’t want to do this. You’re not going to like how it ends.” he said calmly

“You’re the one that’s not going to like the ending, dog!” the Redguard shouted. “You and your bitch are dead!”

Farkus turned to Illia, who was still trying to pry open the gate in any way she could. They were in serious trouble if she couldn’t get out to help him. But Farkus had begun to tear off his armor, tossing the pieces of steel to and fro across the room until he was in nothing but his loin cloth. Illia felt her heart break in two as Farkus’ body began to break and transform before her eyes. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she knew it wasn’t good. Thick black fur began to cover his body as her friend began to take on the form of a giant black wolf. Their attackers were frozen in fear, but began to attack as Farkus let out a deafening howl. 

Wasting no time, Farkus launched at the Redguard and tore out his throat with his sharp teeth. Two of the other warriors tried to strike him from behind, but his speed was inhuman. He swung his claws, and ripped through their armor like butter. Blood gushed from the wounds, spraying his face with the delicious smelling liquid. His blood-lust was insatiable and made him more violent. He howled once more and struck the woman who had spoken earlier, her blood tasting  sweet on his lips. The other men had began to run, but Farkus wasn’t about to let them get away. Giving chase, he leaped and growled as he landed on the body of another warrior.

“No! No please!” he begged but Farkus bit into his jaw and ripped it clean off of his face before turning his attention to the man’s brethren. 

Illia couldn’t bare to watch anymore. She closed her eyes and she heard the deafening screams of the men. The sounds of blood splattering and Farkus feasting on their flesh filled her with feelings of disgust and terror. This was the same man who had nursed her back to health and had fought at her side for months. They had shared drinks and nights of laughter. How could he be such a monster? Hot tears poured down her face like rivers. 

“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.” she chanted to herself over and over again. But it was. 

The gate sprung open  and she finally opened her eyes to see Farkus in front of her. He was no longer in the shape of a wolf, but was now bloody and naked. His eyes seemed to break as he saw the look of horror on her face.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” was all he managed to say.

“Farkus, what are you?” she cried out through her tears.

 

~~~

Joriell had spent many hours descending down the seven thousand steps. But finally, he had made it to Ivarstead. The town seemed unchanged since the last time he had seen it. He made his way through as he went to find his horse at the local stable. It would be the fastest way to return to Whiterun. A man started sprinting towards him from the distance. At first he was unsure, but now he was for certain that it was a courier.

“Are you the one that the Greybeards summoned to High Hrothgar?” he asked, exasperated

“Who wants to know?” Joriell questioned, hesitant to answer the tiny man’s question.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to deliver this message to you. It’s a letter from Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak in Windhelm. He urgently needs to speak with you.”

“I have no time for jarls in Windhelm. I need to go to Whiterun. If your jarl needs to speak with me, he may find me there.” Joriell replied impatiently as he found his horse.. “Not everyone has time to deal with politics. I have matters of greater importance to deal with. Surely Jarl Ulfric will understand that the dragon threat is far greater than his war. ” 

The courier spoke a great many words of how it was a great honor to be summoned by a jarl, but Joriell paid little attention. Instead, he saddled his horse and straddled it. 

“Yes, yes. I’m sure the matter is important. But if I don’t handle the dragons, it won’t matter which side of the war wins. We’ll all be dead. Now if you would excuse me.” he said before kicking his horse. The animal called out before setting off in a full blown gallop. 

Joriell had sided with neither the Empire or the Stormcloaks. Although he had escaped Helgen with the help of a Stormcloak soldier named Ralof, he cared little for politics. It seemed to him that neither side cared for Skyrim and her people. Both sides were just hungry for power. He didn’t know what part he would have to play in the war, but he could escape the conflict...at least for now. Paying no more mind to the courier, he pressed his horse farther down the path towards Whiterun.

 

~~~

“Please don’t be frightened of me, Illia. I would never cause you any harm.” Farkus pleaded. But Illia was frozen in fear as her friend approached her, his hand outstretched.

“Farkus, what was that?” she asked once more. Farkus dropped his hand to his side and began to gather his armor. He quickly began to dress before answering her question.

“It’s a gift from the daedric god, Hircine.” he began to explain “Some of us have been granted the gift to be as beasts; as wolves.” 

“That’s not a gift Farkus! That is a curse!” she cried out, finally gaining control of her body once more. Farkus ignored her and laced up the sides of his steel chain mail. She wasn’t about to let him get off that easy. She walked right up to him and grasped his face in her hands. “How could this have happened to you?”

“It’s a gift Illia. One that you wouldn’t understand.” he said coldly, pushing her hands aside. “All of the Circle carry the beast blood. Including my brother.”

Illia felt as if she had received a blow to the gut. Vilkas was also a beast? No, it couldn’t be true. She knew him better than most. There was no way that he was also cursed. There had to be another explanation.

“And those men?” she questioned “Who were they?” 

“The Silverhand. A group of men and women intent on killing werewolves.” he answered quickly “I bet that mage was one of their own. No matter.” There was a deafening silence between them. She could sense that Farkus was hurt from her reaction. Beast or not, he was still a gentle soul that was greatly pained by her rejection. 

“These Silverhand...they’ve hunted you for a while, haven’t they?” she asked quietly 

“Yes.” he replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she said with a smile “Let’s kill some werewolf hunters.” 

Farkus seemed hesitant to follow her, but he quickly finished dressing and came along side her. 

 

Several hours passed, but they had managed to fight off the rest of the Silverhand. Illia’s armor was soaked in blood; her body was weary from exhaustion, but she had the fragment. Farkus seemed to not mind the blood, but he had remained quiet throughout most of the venture in the Dustman’s Cairn. When they finally left the tomb, night had already fallen.

“You know that you’ll finally be able to join the Circle now.” he said 

“Yes.”

“But that also means that you will have to take part in the beast blood.”

“I know.” she said, her voice was cold and unwavering. She wasn’t sure if she could do this.

“Are you going to do it?” 

“I’m sorry Farkus. But I cannot.” she said “It is not a blessing. It’s a curse, one that I cannot partake in.” He was quiet for a moment, careful on how to phrase what he was about to say next. 

“Are you disgusted by me?” he asked. His eyes betrayed his fear of her answer.

“No, Farkus.” she replied softly. “ I could never think so low of you, my friend. I only fear for you.” 

“A friend...is that all I am to you, Illia?” he asked. Illia was taken aback by how candid he had been. She had suspected his feelings to be this way over the past three months, but she had not given it much thought. She tried to search for an answer, but came back voiceless. “You don’t need to say anything, Illia. I know I am a monster.” He was cold, unwilling to give her another word. She tried to interject, to protest in some way, but the dullness in his eyes made her stop. 

“Come on, let’s get back to Jorrvaskr.”

 

An hour later, they had arrived at the gates of Whiterun. The city had already begun to close down with the citizens slowly returning to their homes for a much needed rest. However, there was no rest for either of the warriors. They continued their way up the city levels until they reached Jorrvaskr. Ignoring the front door, they went around to find that the Circle had gathered in the training yard. Kodlak greeted them warmly.

“Ah, you have returned and with the fragment of Wuuthrad, I presume.” he said with a smile.

“Yes.” Illia replied without expression, handing the fragment to Kodlak.

“Well, it seems as though you have gone beyond proving yourself. Are you ready to join us in the Circle?”

“Before our quest today, I was more than eager to join you.” she said, then looked to Farkus. “However, there are certain things that I know are required of me to take on. And these I must say no to.”

“What do you mean, child?” Kodlak asked confused. Vilkas looked as though he were going to speak up in protest, but Aela stopped him.

“I will not partake in the beast blood, Kodlak.” she replied “I will not willingly accept a curse.”

“It’s not a curse, you foolish child.” Skjor began “It is a blessing. It binds us together as warriors, as brothers and sisters.”

“I understand you feel this way.” she said “And I know the consequences of my decision. But I must hold firm to what I believe. If need be, I will take my leave tonight.” 

“Who said anything about you having to leave, dear child?” Kodlak said “It is true, if you do not partake in the blood, you cannot join us in the fellowship of the Circle. But you have proven yourself to be a valuable warrior, Illia. You will not be expected to leave. But are you sure about this?”

“Yes. This is what I want.”

“Alright then.” he said and with a wave of his hand, the Circle adjourned. Vilkas, however, quickly pulled Illia to the side. His face was filled with confusion and rage. For a moment, she feared what he would do; strike her, scream at her. Vilkas had a hard time controlling his rage, now she knew why.

 

“What are you doing, Illia?” he said. “You’re throwing your future away. You’ll never become a great warrior among the Companions if you do not partake in the beast blood.”

“Then I will not be a great warrior among the Companions.” she replied “But this doesn’t mean that I won’t be a great warrior.”

“Then-then there is no point in my training you. If you do not seek to bring honor to the Companions, my time is wasted on you.” he said harshly. Illia felt her heart break in her chest, but she swallowed down the tears. She absolutely refused to let Vilkas see her cry. 

“Then I guess it is.” she said and then turned towards Jorrvaskr, fighting the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes. 

 

When she entered the main room, she was expecting to find the Companions feasting or going off into their chambers. Instead, they were standing at the bottom of the stairs near the entrance to the great hall. A stranger stood before them in steel armor. He was broad shouldered, and tall. In truth, his build was much like Vilkas’ except he was taller. But it wasn’t his size that was intimidating. It was the aura that exuded off of him. 

His eyes locked with hers from across the room. Joriell was stunned. Those vividly blue eyes...they were practically staring through him. Yet, her expression was warm. Her long, ebony hair was stained with blood and ash, her armor soaked in a rich crimson color; yet she was still the most beautiful creature that he had ever laid eyes on. But his eyes moved, fixated on the old man approaching him.  

“What is it that you seek, Dragonborn?” the wise Kodlak asked astutely

“You know who I am?” he asked, his forest colored eyes stunned. 

“I saw you briefly when you were working for our Jarl.” Kodlak replied, with a stone face. “You’ve proven yourself honorable in his presence. So, what is it that you seek?”

“May we speak in private?” Joriell proposed carefully.

“Of course. You are welcome here, Dragonborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I had to get this chapter out there. I, personally, thought that in the game, the Dragonborn's reaction to Farkus turning into a werewolf was kind of muted. I think it's more reasonable for someone to freak out. And considering the amount of pain that would come forth during a transformation; I wouldn't want it either. Either way, I'm super excited about this chapter. THEY FINALLY MET!!!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter guys, but I think I'll have the next one up by tomorrow (and its gonna have some creepy stuff) Feel free to critique. Again, thank you so much for reading and all the support. I live for the comments :)

Soft spatters of rain dotted the landscape three mornings later. Illia remained underneath the pavilion in the training yard that gray morning, sipping an herbal blend that Tilda had taught her how to make while reading her favorite novel. She was overjoyed to remember that she had stuffed it in her satchel when she left Windhelm. The thin pages were worn and stained brown at the edges, the paper folded from her youth. She hadn’t been taught how to mark her place in a book without damaging it when she had been younger. The novel, her first one, had taken on a lot of the pain from that. Yet, it was the one constant in her life. She was sure she had memorized it word for word by now. 

Skjor and Aela had immediately spurned her, barely granting her a passing glance. Their eyes were cold and glaring when she did happen to catch their attention. Vilkas was even colder, obviously avoiding her. Ria seemed to be benefitting from her lack of training though. The other new bloods were oblivious to the tension, but they had hardly been welcoming when she first arrived anyways. Only Farkus seemed to be able to tolerate her. 

Damn it, she thought then cursed herself again. She cared deeply for Farkus, that much was certain. But she knew that she did not love him. And even if she did, it didn’t matter; she was promised to another. True, she didn’t love Ulfric either, but she had made a promise to him and her family that she would wed him. Still...that did not ease the aching in her heart. 

Joriell emerged from the doors behind her, surprised to see another awake at these early hours. Illia tried to avoid his gaze, those evergreen eyes terrifying her. Everything about him was intimidating, and watching him train in the yard with Farkus hadn’t helped cease the feeling. Despite his physique being smaller than both Vilkas and Farkus, he still managed to throw them both around the yard with ease. He was quick to learn from mistakes, rarely making the same one more than once. It was hard to tear her eyes away from him as he fought. He wasn’t graceful, and anyone who told you otherwise would be a liar, but it was his wit that often was the cause for his victory. Against Farkus, he had thrown the lumbering man off balance before going for his feet. Even Vilkas (who still managed to defeat him) was left out of breath after their training. Joriell was a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn’t even sure he knew it.

“I didn’t know warriors had time for books and tea.” he said with a crooked grin. Illia marked the page in her book, nearly spilling her tea in the process as she turned in her chair to face him. 

“My father used to say that the mind is as vital in battle as strength.” she replied gently, her chest hurting that the thought of her parents. It was easy in the quiet moments to let her mind sink away, but if she drifted too deeply into her thoughts she would be back on the sunny shores of her home, basking in the warmth of the light. She couldn’t miss them; not now, not when she couldn’t go back.

“Your father seems like a wise man.” Joriell responded, ignorant of the thoughtfulness in her eyes. “Is he a warrior?”

“He’s nobody of import.” she answered softly as she continued to run her slim hands across the hardcover of her novel. “And you? Surely your parents must have been of honorable stature for you to be so...so…”

“So what?” A smile spread across his lips. Illia could tell he enjoyed it when she was flustered.

“So inclined to learn. Your skills with a blade are beyond impressive.” she finally managed to say, cursing herself for her lack of composure. 

“From you, that’s high praise.” he replied, moving to sit on chair across from her. The rain continued in its steady flow, creating a faint chill in the air. “Though I don’t believe a farmer could be held in high regard.”

“Quite the contrary, farmers are beyond important. Wars and sieges are won through them.” Illia countered “Think about it? Great sieges were not won by soldiers, but by the ability of cities to get supplies. A king who cannot feed his people is hardly fit to be a king, don’t you think?”

“You speak your mind freely.” he noted “I wish more people were like that.” The blood rushed to Illia’s cheeks before she had a moment to stop it. To take her attention off of him, she went to chug her tea and in the process, she scorched her throat. She choked on the piping hot liquid, coughing it up in a very unlady-like fashion that made Joriell laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a chuckle “I forgot how hot it was.” 

“You’re fine.” he said, grinning as he watched her try to clean the spilt liquid off of her. “I’m Joriell, by the way. I wasn’t sure if I actually ever introduced myself.”

“My name is Illia.” she answered, trying to hide her embarrassment “There’s hardly a need to introduce yourself. Everyone is well aware of who you are.”

“The Dragonborn, you mean?”

“Of course.”

“Yes, people know the Dragonborn, but they do not know Joriell; Joriell, the son of the farmer and technically an escaped prisoner of Skyrim.”

“Escaped prisoner?”

“Yes, I was captured with Jarl Ulfric by the Imperials in Helgen.” he explained, carefully choosing how to explain the situation, “I was crossing the border when the Imperials ambushed his men. I ended up getting captured in the confusion.”

So he was at Dark Water Crossing...she thought. Was he still in contact with the Jarl? Would he reveal where she was or who she was to the Imperials if he found out? How much of distance would she have to keep from this man? Did he know? Was that why he was here?

“Did the Imperials know why Jarl Ulfric was even there? It is rather out of the blue.” Illia asked, her mind darting to her priority concern; did the Imperials know about her parents’ betrayal?

“No, Ralof explained that someone had given away their plans to the General, but only he and Ulfric knew why they were going to Dark Water Crossing in the first place.” Joriell said “Guess it was some kind of big secret.”

“Interesting.” she said with more relief than what she was hoping to show. “So Jarl Ulfric-”

“It’s good to see that the two of you are getting along.” Kodlak said, interrupting their conversation. The seasoned warrior reminded Illia of her father. He was tall, as were most of the Nordic men in Skyrim. Illia had always believed herself to be a freak when she stood in comparison to the Imperial men in Cyrodiil. Now she realized that she was rather average, verging on short,  in comparison to the other women in Skyrim. She was definitely thinner than the other women, but she felt more at home with the Nords than she did with the Imperials. A grey beard salted with streaks of white grew wild and unkempt around his face, and his eyes were faintly blue. Broad shouldered and strong, his stature was certainly like Japheth. 

In his youth, the young Stormborn had fought as a general in the Imperial Legion before working as an advisor for the emperor. It was during that time that he met Lyanna. Her mother had been the daughter of a nobleman within the region of Windhelm and had volunteered to fight with the Legion. It was during one of the fights that she had met Japheth, the pair working back to back in order to fight off bandits that had decided to raid their encampment during the night. Japheth knew from then on that he never wished to parted from Lyanna. He got his wish. 

Kodlak had spoken once about having a family; a wife and son. He hadn’t gone into great detail, but when he had returned from the Great War, they had not been there. He found the Companions when he was alone, with no longer having a family or a will to live. It was a blessing too for he had been a wise Harbinger for decades.

“We’ve received some reports west of Whiterun.” Kodlak began to explain. “You both will be taking the new bloods out to scout the area.”

“Shouldn’t a member of the Circle be accompanying us?” Illia asked in confusion.

“A member of the Circle is going.” Kodlak explained “You may have abstained from the rituals that would make you a member, Illia, but you have proven yourself among us. Despite how the others may feel, you are one of us.”

“That still does not change the fact that I am not in the Circle.” Illia replied 

“True, which is why the Dragonborn will accompany you.” he said turning to Joriell “Surely the warrior of legends will be able to keep you and the new bloods safe.”

Rain continued to pour over the landscape, making the trek out towards the western province even more treacherous. Illia clung to the warmth of her cloak, the hood barely remaining over her black hair as the wind pushed against it. Her white oak bow was secured tightly to her back along with her fully stocked quiver. Throwing daggers forged by Eorlund  were strapped along the length of her thighs and hips. To anyone passing by, she appeared fierce and dangerous. Little did they know that her wet cotton sleeves were chafing her arms and her leather slacks were rubbing her skin raw. Even her feet felt soaked in rain and mud. Joriell trailed closely behind, his steel armor and threadbare cloak barely protecting him the elements. The goosebumps scattered across his skin could be seen for miles.

Torvar and Athis kept close to one another; the best friends were never willing to be too far apart with an impending battle nearby. Njada, the lone wolf that she was, stayed towards the back while Ria remained closer to the other new bloods. Njada had been less than pleased at the prospect of Illia and Joriell leading their little group. Her deadly white eyes were practically burning holes in the back of Illia’s head, filling the girl with an urge to slap her. Still, Illia swallowed down the feeling and kept her mind focused on the task at hand. 

Kodlak had continued with explaining that bandits had taken over a monument on the outskirts of Whiterun. There had been some minor altercations between them and few patrols, but nothing of major import. That was until an entire Khajiit caravan had gone missing. One of the local girls, Ysolda, had thrown a fit and demanded that Jarl Balgruuf finally handle those damn bandits. 

Illia motioned for them all to pause as they began to approach closer towards the hideout. In the distance, she could make out at least five figures moving in a patrol at the front of the entrance. Joriell picked up on them immediately as well, and pulled them to quietly huddle. 

“Ria,” Illia whispered quietly “You and I will sneak along the higher ridge. Once we start to fire, the four of you will attack. We can provide you with some cover until the guards are taken care of.”

“Once we’re inside, Athis and Torvar will take point while Njada and I reinforce the rear guard.” Joriell said. The others nodded in agreement, readying their swords while Ria and Illia made their way around the ridge. With the thunder of the rain to shadow their splashing, they managed to make it towards the top without drawing any attention. 

“Are you ready?” Illia asked, aligning her first shot. The girl shot her back a wicked smile.

“I’m always ready, Illia.” she quipped, her arm fully outstretched as she pulled the string back to her sharp cheekbone. Her eyes unwavering, she let the string loose, allowing the arrow to soar towards its target with unparalleled precision.  But just as the arrow went to pierce the Dark Elf that it was fired at, it bursted outwards, splinters flying in all directions. “What in Talos’ name?” 

Blood thirsty red eyes turned in their direction. The Dunmer raised his hand, a ball of crimson light forming at the tip of his finger. Light soared in their direction, growing bigger and more violent the closer it came.

“Get down!” Illia snatched Ria by her waist and smashed her hard onto the ground. A blistering heat scorched her back and she could smell the cloth of her armor and cloak burning. Illia screamed as she felt the magic burn her flesh, the heat reaching to her bones although the damage remained at the surface. Biting her bottom lip until it drew blood, she stifled her tears and muffled her cries of pain. Beneath her, Ria trembled as she watched the molten ball of light pass by. What must have been only a few seconds felt like an eternity. The ball dissipated, striking the surrounding ridge around them in a mighty explosion that sent rocks and rubble flying in their direction. 

“Illia!” Ria called out, shifting the girl. The pain was making her feel dizzy, but Illia managed to move. Across the length of her back, Ria could see deep burns that had stripped the flesh from the muscle. What wasn’t missing was turned black and blistering. The girl pulled a healing potion from her satchel and gave it to her injured friend. Illia swallowed it down eagerly, feeling the tissue of her skin beginning to mend. 

Still out of sight from the bandits, Joriell’s heart was pounding. Illia and Ria were completely out of sight, their ridge hidden behind a cloud of smoke. Luckily the attackers hadn’t noticed them yet. 

“Are you still alive, lovelies?” the Dunmer called out to the top of the ridge. 

“I do believe the gods have smiled upon us today, Prentice.” the woman next to him chimed “Molag Bal will be pleased with two more for his pire.” 

“Bind and gag them.” Prentice ordered to the men that followed behind 

“Why aren’t we stopping them?” Njada asked between clenched teeth, her body tense and ready for the fight. Torvar and Athis were alarmed as well, but Joriell’s intense gaze kept all three of them in check.

“These aren’t just bandits.” Joriell replied “We can’t charge in without knowing what we’re dealing with. Now stay quiet.” 

The group of warriors watched as two of Prentice’s men made their way up the ridge to where Illia and Ria had been. Ria grasped her bow and fired another arrow at the approaching men. They smirked, and with a wave of their hand, the wood turned to ash. Illia, now mostly healed and enraged, made a move that none of them had been expecting. She charged at the men and just as they went to unleash their magic once more, she dove with two daggers between their legs. Driving the blades into their thighs, they fell, giving Ria the chance to fire her bow once more. This time, the arrow struck one of their assailants in the throat. Their victory, however, did not last for long.

“Enough!” Prentice shouted from below, a wave of magic escaping his grasp and extending around Ria and Illia. They flew into the mage’s direction. The pair fell onto the ground in a heap, kicking up the dust at Prentice’s feet. “My, my, they are quite fiery.”

“Indeed.” the woman replied. “But Nathan and Adam were hardly a challenge to begin with.” 

Oh, of course Delilah, but even the weakest among us are very powerful among these haughty Nords.” Prentice grinned and then looked Illia directly in the eyes.

His face was haggard and angled, with sharp, yellowish teeth. A vibrant scar trailed down the length of his cheek, slashing over his left eye. His skin was as black as midnight and his red eyes looked deadly. The woman, a Breton, was more regal looking with short, white hair and elvish features. Her silver eyes practically burned through both of them. Illia tried to move, but found that her entire body felt cemented to the ground.

“Well aren’t you the pretty one?” Prentice quipped, playing with a strand of her black hair between his fingers. “What is your name, snowflake?” Illia spat in his face in a show of defiance, something she didn’t think that she was capable of. The Dunmer laughed as he wiped his cheek clean. “Pretty and fiery. Molag is going to like you.”

He turned to Ria, who was unable to move as well, and examined her face. Ria was beautiful, more so than Illia. Her plump lips were soft and supple looking. Deep-set eyes that were the color of chestnuts glared at the Dunmer. If looks could kill, Illia was sure that he would have burst into flames. 

“And you my dear, I think you’ll be the first we’ll offer up to our lord.” he said turning to Delilah. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

**“She’s perfect.” **


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING* Dark things happen in this chapter of a non-consensual nature. Discretion is advised.

        Joriell swallowed his rage as he watched Illia and Ria be dragged inside the hideout. His four companions were alarmed at his lack of intervention, but they dare not challenge the decision. He wasn’t even quite sure if it was the best course of action, but that mage was powerful, more powerful than he expected. With little to block the carnage that his one spell would bring, he didn’t want to risk making a head on attack. It would have gotten them killed instantly. The rest of the men had followed inside, eagerly awaiting whatever they had in store for Illia and Ria. He would just have to trust that the girls were as tough as they seemed to be. 

“We should have attacked them.” Njada finally said, releasing the full brunt of her anger. “But of course, Kodlak put you and that dumb bitch in charge.” 

“Njada-” Athis tried to interject, but to no avail.

“No, Athis!” she replied in a hiss “I’m tired of these newbies thinking that they’re better than us. You just let Ria get captured.” 

“We couldn’t have done anything!” Torvar tried to quell her rage, but Njada was not going to cease her speech. 

She charged at Joriell, shoving him against one of the trees that had been shrouding their presence, but the Dragonborn would not push her back. Kicking and punching at his chest, she swore him up and down in her rage. 

“What makes you so damn special?” she yelled in her anger. She went to swing at his face, but this time, he grasped her wrist and held it tightly.

“Enough!” His green eyes were fierce and full of heat. He could feel his blood calling for him to face her in battle, but he forced himself to keep control. “If we had charged through there, that mage would have fired that same attack at us. There would have been no cover, and we would have been killed. And what good would it be for either of them?”

“But-”

“We’re going to get them free, but we need to keep our heads cool.” he continued throwing her hand to her side “So either listen or stay the hell out of my way!”

Njada silenced, her anger turning her cheeks red, but she obeyed. Joriell unsheathed his sword and motioned for the others to follow. Readying their weapons, they quietly made their way into the dark crypt, not knowing what awaited them. 

  
  
  


The air tasted stale and reeked of death. One of Prentice’s spells had left Illia feeling dizzy, not remembering the descent further into the fortress. She felt cold, her skin feeling moist and exposed to the cold draft within the crypt. With fluttering eyes, she began to put some of the pieces to together. 

 

There had been an ordinary looking hideout with rotting food and dirty dishes lining the shelves of burnt books and scrolls. Ria had been unconscious, the magic too great on her.  Illia had tried to speak, anything to make sure that the girl was still alive, but the words died in her throat. She had blacked out once more and had only awoken from the jolt of being carried down a flight of stairs. 

In the depths below, the air was chilled, growing colder the further they descended. She had been carried away, separate from her friend, and taken into dark room that smelled of sweat and blood. Two mages laid her across a table, stripping her of her armor; she tried to move, anything to get them to stop, but their magic was strong. Her blue eyes welling with tears, she blinked in an attempt to stop crying and had succeeded. She would not let them see her cry. They stripped of her of her smalls, and began to wipe the layer of filth off of her skin. Instead of smelling of dirt and rain, they perfumed her with the scent of roses and honeysuckle before dressing her in a gown, if that was what you would call it. The thin white linen only covered her center, her legs and rib cage left stark naked. Next, one of the mages had taken to roughly brushing her hair so that if fell in ebony waves past her breasts while the other finished the task of healing her wounds. 

“She’s going to make an excellent Daughter of Coldharbour.” the Wood Elf sneered as she stained her lips to be the color of a rose. “If she survives of course.” 

 

Now, she was chained  to a table meant for torture, her legs spread wide. She had finally been reunited with Ria, but from a distance. The girl had been placed on a stone slab. Her wrists and ankles had been crudely chained at her sides with no possibility of movement. Illia could only watch, unable to free herself from the chains that bound her. 

“Ria!” she managed to call out

“I’m okay.” the girl replied but without her normal confidence. In front of her alter was a fountain with a mirror at the center of it. The water was unmistakably bloody and tingled with foul magic. The mirror, although cracked, was one of gloom and fear. Doors opened from behind Ria. Prentice and Delilah were dressed in black garb. Prentice snapped his fingers and the room filled with a warm light, revealing that they were in a massive chamber. Murals of men being slaughtered and women being ravaged by a demon  adorned the walls. It was terrifying. 

“We’re ready.” Prentice’s voice echoed in the chamber, leaving Illia feeling clammy and fearful. 

  
  


 

Blood stained the darkened floors as Joriell sliced his way through the thralls that stood in his way. Behind him, Torvar and Athis were drenched in crimson as another vampire thrall exploded under the magic of a female vampire. The foul liquid eroded at their armor, making them smell of acid, but Athis refused to be stopped. His blade feasted on the flesh and blood of the leach before she could cast another one of her tricks, turning her body to ash as she fell vanquished. Njada was in her element, moving roughly and swiftly as she cut through more of her victims. The small guard they had stumbled upon barely stood a chance.

“These blood bags are nice for a warm up, but the mages are of major concern.” she said as she spit onto the corpse at her feet. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” Joriell said, his mind racing at the possibilities. Who knew what was happening to Illia and Ria? The more time they wasted cutting through these thralls, the more likely it was that one of them would end up dead. “I would suggest splitting up , but with the power of those mages...I wouldn’t risk anyone like that. Let’s keep moving.”

 

They travelled farther down the darkened corridor, hot steaming blood still dripping off of their blades and armor. Joriell was sticky with the stuff. He had dealt with vampires from time to time when he was with his parents. However, the kind of magic that they were displaying was unlike anything he had ever seen. To see their thralls combust into a poisonous explosion of blood and organs was unsettling to say the least. It did seem as though the vampires tired quickly after their cruel spells were cast. That was their moment of opportunity. Maybe that was the key to the mages as well.

The farther they traveled down the hall, the colder the air grew. If he exhaled, he could see his own breath be carried in a white cloud through the wind. There had to be a place where the draft was  coming through. Pointing towards the left, Joriell continued to follow the freezing current of air until he reach an empty room with only a few barrels that were filled with rotting apples.

“Nice,” Njada snarked as she held one of the lids of the barrels and tossed it across the floor.“We found the pantry. Eat up boys.”

“Shut up.” Joriell urged and began to listen against the wall. “Do you hear that?”

  
  
  
  


Illia wasn’t sure when the chanting started, but she didn’t want to stick around to find out. She pulled and kicked at her chains, anything to try to get free. Ria was starting to do the same, her grunts and struggle still muffled by the sounds of the chanting mages. There weren’t many of them, maybe five in total, all dressed in the same black robes that Delilah and Prentice adorned. They seemed to age with the chant, growing more haggard and weary looking despite their youth. It was mystifying and deadly to look upon. The older mages seemed to be fainting from exhaustion, but Prentice seemed to only be growing stronger. 

His muscles strengthened, his eyes brightened, and all the while Illia and Ria were powerless to free themselves from his infernal chains. The walls began to tremble, clouds of dust and little balls of rubble falling onto them. What was more was the mirror had begun to splinter and crack as a foul smoke escaped the seams.

“Ria!” Illia called out her name. She didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know where the others were, but she doubted Joriell would leave them behind. But even he would struggle if there were more of these mages walking about. She wasn’t sure if he was going to have enough time. 

The entire room blackened and she heard the deafening crack as the mirror completely shattered. And then...silence, a silence more terrifying than the chanting. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her lungs unable to catch their breath. It was maddening. Goosebumps cascaded over her skin as the air constricted around her. There was a single footstep. A blinding topaz light began to form around the mirror, filling the entire room with its beams. Illia tried to look away, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. Standing before them was creature made of black flesh and darkness. The horns on his head acted as crown, the only color forming on his tall, muscular form was his glowing blue eyes. His teeth, vile and sharp, could be seen in a sinister grin. Prentice fell immediately to his knees.

“My lord….” he spoke with a tremble in his voice. “We bring to you these offerings, these potential Daughters of Coldharbour.”

**_“Do you take me for a fool?”_ ** Molag Bal’s voice boomed in his rage and disgust.  **_“I know it is my powers that you seek. But it was never yours to claim, Prentice.”_ **

 

The Daedric Lord’s clawed hand grasped the puny Dunmer by his throat. The blackened fist collapsed around  his throat, silencing Prentice forever with a final tiny gasp of agony. He turned to Delilah, who had kept her head down throughout the entire ordeal, and now was deciding on what to say. The other mages were now cursed with stark white hair. Their faces were no longer filled with  youth, but now were filled with the years of an ancient. 

**_“Let me see this first offering.”_ ** Molag Bal approached Ria, causing Illia to kick and yell out her name in the chains more in an attempt to distract him. He ignored her. Instead, he took one of Ria’s chained hands and sniffed it.  **_“This must be a joke. Truly, you all are not so pathetic as to offer me a daughter of Hircine.”_ **

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Delilah managed to whisper with a trembling voice “I don’t know what you mean.”

**_“Then you are stupid as you are pathetic, you rotting cunt.”_ ** the demon spoke through clenched teeth.  **_“For anyone would be able to smell the scent of one of Hircine’s whelp growing in this mortal’s womb.”_ **

“What?” Ria’s voice was barely a whisper. Illia let out an exhale of relief. She was safe, no matter what the circumstances were. That’s all that mattered.

“We have another.” Delilah quickly replied in an attempt to please the angry god. “Pure as snow.”

**_“I’ll be the judge of that.”_ ** Molag Bal’s cold eyes turned finally to Illia. Icy sweat travelled down the length of her spine, sending chills through her clammy body. He approached her slowly, enjoying every moment that her bottom lip trembled with fear. His rough, calloused hand stroked her cheek and he allowed it to explore the length of her side, down her hip, ass, and upper thigh.  **_“She’s not much in comparison to the other…”_ ** he trailed  **_“But I like the look of her.”_ **

His claw moved closer to the inner part of her thigh until her found her center. Illia tried move, to fight, making the god grin even more with arousal.  **_“Oh...yes….”_ ** His mouth almost sung at the last syllable.  **_“Pure as winter’s snow. She’ll make an excellent Daughter of Coldharbour.”_ **

With a swift flick of his wrist, his claws tore through the chains that bound her, and she collapsed on the cold, stone floor in a heap. She moved quickly, crawling in an attempt to get away, but Molag Bal roughly seized her by her ankle, baring her lower half in the movement. She kicked out at him, her foot colliding with his rock hard abdomen, but he was unphased. In face, it seemed to only make his sick smile grow. 

“Illia!” she could hear Ria calling for her and trying move about in her chains, but she was trapped much like the young Nord was now. Molag Bal pressed hard on her arms, pinning her to the floor to a point where she knew she would bruise as he forced her legs to spread for him. 

Her mind raced, trying to think of any way to get out. No one was coming and she knew that. Delilah watched with an enamored smile, intrigued to see her master do his work. Ria wept freely for her, knowing what was to come next. Illia had never felt so vulnerable and out of control. It felt as though the world was spinning...this couldn’t possibly be happening to her. She hadn’t even realized that she was crying as she felt his hard length press against her thigh as he positioned himself at her entrance. Muscles tense and shaking, she felt his cold hand wrap around the length of her face. 

**_“Scream to me your sweet music…”_ ** The would-be god whispered  **_“It’ll make taking you all the more sweeter.”_ **

“I will never scream for you!” Illia said, her voice dripping with venom and malice

**_“We’ll see about that.”_ **

 

Joriell burst through the door expecting to find anything...anything other than what he was seeing. Illia was lying helpless on the floor. Every part of her was twitching with terror as she tried to force Molag Bal off of her. The Daedric Prince stopped, the pause saving her from violation. The air stilled for only a moment before they came charging in at full speed. 

Njada bashed her shield and sword into one of the ancient mages just as he was about to fire a bolt of lightening in her direction. Athis and Torvar made quick work of the others before all three began to focus their attention to Delilah who was readying her assault of spells, leaving Morlag Bal to Joriell. The Dragonborn was terrifying, his green eyes filled with a fire that could burn through any metal, and if he had his way, it would burn right through Molag Bal. 

**_“A son of Akatosh…”_ ** Molag Bal sneered  **_“I’ll ruin you before I turn this virgin into a screaming whore.”_ **

_ “Zu’u fen kipraan nau hin slen, volalaan rah!”  _ The ancient words flew freely from his lips in a fiery blaze as he charged at the Daedric Prince. Molag Bal rose to his feet, summoning to him a demonic mace. Metal clashed with metal, causing Joriell’s sword to bend and warp. But the Dragonborn would not falter, his rage fueling him. He shouted, fire pouring onto the Daedric Prince without mercy. The would-be god seemed to falter under the pain, but he swiped his mace at the son of Akatosh. Joriell dodged the blow, his mind only focused on ending his opponent. Illia rose to her feet, exhaling in relief and forcing the shaking in her limbs to stop. She ran towards Ria, who was still chained to the slab. 

“Are you alright?” she asked in exasperation.

“Yes.” Illia replied as she grasped the rusty chains and began to pull. The metal was already beginning to break under her weight. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

Joriell continued his assault on Molag Bal, swinging his blade in a righteous fury all the while screaming the Words of Power with an unstoppable momentum that sent the god falling off of his feet. Yet, with every wound, Molag Bal only seemed to grow stronger and Joriell was beginning to tire. He wouldn’t be able to keep up this assault for long. The other new bloods were continuing to fight Delilah who, like her previous master, was firing molten orbs of destruction to and fro. The trio was barely able to avoid her attacks. Illia could see the battle unfolding and she knew it wouldn’t last much longer. 

“What do we do?” Ria asked, seeing the exhaustion begin to slowly weigh on Joriell. Illia looked for an answer anywhere until he eyes fell upon the mirror. The deadly smoke was still pouring from it’s entrance, yet it would not meet the red water below it. 

“The mirror-” Illia began “Drown it in the water.”

The pair ran, narrowly avoiding the ongoing battles. They jumped into the pool, staining their white robes crimson with bloody water. They began to push and pull at the mirror, using all their strength to try to send it into the water. With an exhausting amount of effort, they only managed to sink the bottom part of it.

**_“NO!”_ ** Molag Bal cried in a rage and raised his hand to fire some deadly magic at the woman, but Joriell seized the opportunity. His blade collided with his ebony flesh and the smell of sulfur perfumed the air as his forearm collapsed onto the ground and turned to blackened ash. Irate, the daedra swung his free hand, causing Joriell to crash onto the floor behind him.  **_“You will perish, mortal!”_ **

He rose his mace, about to slam it into Joriell’s chest, but Illia and Ria had succeeded. The mirror drowned under the red waves and with it, Molag Bal vanished into a cloud of smoke. Weakened and tired, Athis’ blade slit through Delilah’s bare throat in a moment of hesitation. It was finally over. Joriell stood slowly, his body weary from the Words of Power and the battle. Sheathing his blade, he made his way over to the girls, who were still standing half naked in a pool of bloody water.

“Are you both-” he asked hesitantly, unsure of the words to say. “Did they-”

“It’s okay.” Illia replied, softly. “We’re safe.” A smile formed on her face as she took her friend’s hand. “And it seems with a new Companion on the way.” Ria’s hand touched the surface of her womb in disbelief. 

“Where’s my damn armor?” she asked “I’m not going back home to Vilkas dressed like this.”

  
  
  


A humid, warm night fell over Whiterun. After a hot bath and long rest, Illia was enjoying the soft breeze that moved through the training yard. She had changed out of her armor into a soft pair of cotton slacks and loose tunic with strings that hung at the base of her cleavage. Like she had suspected, her arms had bruised under Molag Bal’s touch. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought of him, how close he had come to fulfilling his cruel plans. She shivered, clinging tighter to her knees which she held to her chest. Joriell stepped out onto the pavilion, no longer dressed in his armor, but comfortable attire much like Illia was wearing. 

“The priestess confirmed it.” he said, breaking the silence. Except Whiterun was never really quiet. Even with the people lying asleep in their warm beds, the sounds of crickets and fireflies never ceased. The sounds of river carried in the winds, and the halls of Jorrvaskr were in celebration after a job well done. “I guess little Ria is with child.”

“I’m glad.” Illia said with a soft smile, not meeting his gaze. “Vilkas will make a good father, and Ria is beautiful and kind. I couldn’t see anyone more deserving of having a family.” 

“That child is going to be a handful, nevertheless.” he said with a laugh. He moved over to the table that she was sitting on and sat next to her. Through the fabric of her tunic, she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. “You don’t have to talk about what happened today. I don’t expect you to. But are you-”

“He did not accomplish what he set out to do, Joriell.” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m shaken, yes, but I will be fine. I have you to thank for that.”

“Illia, I-” But before he could speak, her lips barely brushed against his. Her lips, soft and pouty, felt like a feather, her touch almost a ghost on his skin. As quickly as it came, she pulled away. Soft, sapphire eyes met emerald green irises, connecting for but a moment before they vanished. Without another word, she disappeared inside the celebrating halls of Jorrvaskr. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a close one. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It was pretty dark, but ultimately this fanfic is going to have some pretty dark moments. But no matter how dark it gets, there will always be some light moments and joy. I wasn't expecting for Ria to be pregnant either, but once my character was, I let her stay that way. I wasn't super planning on that kiss happening either but Illia had other plans. They're so sweet. Stay tuned for the next chapter. I think after some editing, I'll have it up either later tonight or early tomorrow morning. Again, thanks so much for the support.


	6. Chapter 6

Another month had passed and the harsh winter cold of Skyrim had begun to affect Whiterun and her people. Work had been scarce, and training had been unending. Illia sipped her cup of mead, clinging to her fur cloak. Farkus sat down next to her with his own cup of ale. Even he had changed his clothing for the winter months, adding an extra layer of fur to his steel armor. They hadn’t spoken much since Dustman’s Cairn, which left Illia with a void feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“So, Joriell’s time has come.” he said as he sipped his ale. “We’re going with him today to collect another fragment of Wuuthrad. This time from a group of the Silverhand.”

 

_ Joriell... _ His name made her heart clench and flutter all at once. They had spent some time together since their battle with Molag Bal, but Skjor and Vilkas had been recruiting him for more missions. They hadn’t even spoken of her kiss. She fought the urge to bring her fingers to her lips as they tingled at the memory. It had been her first one, something she had not expected to share with anyone except her future husband. In that moment, all logic had left her and she felt an urge to thank him for saving her. Words wouldn’t have done him justice. 

“Will he have to take on the beast blood?” she asked, idly watching the falling snow. 

“He’ll be offered the same choice that you were.” Farkus replied “No one knows what he will choose considering the blood of Akatosh already runs through his veins.”

“It’ll be one that he has to make.” she said, finishing off the rest of her drink. She went to set the cup down, but before she could pull her hand back, Farkus had seized it. 

“Illia, we haven’t spoken since-” he began “I know that you and I have not confided in one another as we once did. And for that, I have myself to blame. I pushed you away in my shame; I didn’t want you to see what I was. I didn’t want to see fear in your eyes when you looked at me...and yet now, I see only warmth. You may have been scared in that moment. It was a shock to be certain, yet you still look at me with compassion.”

“You are a dear friend, Farkus.” Illia replied “You have guarded me and remained at my side although the others did not. You respected my decision regarding the Circle.”

“If I could go back , I would have made the same decision.” he replied softly “What I’m trying and failing at say is my heart has not wavered in its resolve.” His lips brushed the knuckle of her hand, causing her heart to pound with nerves. “I still love you.”

“Farkus, you haven’t the slightest clue about me” she replied softly “If you knew-”

“I know enough, Illia.” he interrupted “Life is too short in these days especially for warriors like us. I wish we had time for some long winded courtship where I could write you sonnets and ballads, but we don’t have such time here in Skyrim. But my heart is earnest and affection for you deep.”

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Illia tried to find the words. “I do not mean to hurt you.”

“Do you love another?”

“No-”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Illia.”

“I wouldn’t.” 

She moved to stand, but Farkus grasped her hand once more. She opened her mouth to protest, but he had already seized her lips. His mouth was rough and consuming, his lips tasted of mead. The sweetness left her feeling dizzy and inebriated. She wanted to pull away as every part of her screamed for him to stop. But before she could fight him off, he already had.

“Even if you did, at least I can say that I stole at least one kiss from you.” he whispered and then took his leave. 

  
  


The Silverhand’s camp was located in a mountain ridge east of Whiterun. They had gained control of a bridge which stretched across the river between the two mountain passes. Joriell, Illia, and Farkus had managed to hide themselves within some nearby foliage. Just outside, there were at least twenty men. They hadn’t expected numbers this large, otherwise they would have brought some of the Circle. But Aela and Skjor were off working a job over in Riverwood while Vilkas continued to carefully watch over his now pregnant betrothed. He had hardly left her side since the news, giving her long glances as if he were a lost puppy. Ria had taken the news of the blood easily, saying it explained why Vilkas prefered certain positions in the bedroom. Despite it all, she loved him with the entirety of her heart. 

“How many do you think are inside?” Joriell asked

“At least a dozen.” Farkus replied “I’ve never seen a group of them this big.”

“Do you think we should send for help from Jorrvaskr?” Illia questioned

“No, the three of us should be able to handle them.” he said “If not, the river will break our fall.”

“Not funny.” Illia said with a smile.

“Illia, take the high ground and start raining down arrows as support. Joriell and I will fight through the center. Just be careful not to hit us.” Farkus said quickly developing a plan of attack. Illia nodded and quickly climbed up the mountain ridge, careful not to draw attention to herself. 

Once in position, she aimed her arrow at her first target as she waited for Farkus’ signal. Suddenly, the two male warriors were sprinting down the bridge, attacking the Silverhand with deadly force. Illia began to fire her arrows, rarely missing her targets. A horn signaled for more Silverhand to join in the fight. From her position, she could see at least ten more men enter the battle from the main camp. 

“Mara have mercy, how many are there?” she said aloud to herself as she fired another arrow. The point pierced through the throat of one of Silverhand in front of Farkus. The warrior was soaked in blood. His great sword was nearly chopping the Silverhand in half. But for every warrior he brought down, another took his place. Joriell was fighting more fiercely that he ever thought possible. Fighting one dragon had been one thing, but taking on three men at once was another matter entirely. He wasn’t sure if he could manage it all. 

“ **_FUS ROH DAH!_ ** ” he called out, sending four men over the bridge to their death. His shouts echoed throughout the mountain range, making it more difficult for the Silverhand to fight. Every time their archers got into position, Illia took them out with a single arrow. But she was beginning to run out. She was going to have to join them in the fight on foot. She grasped one of the five arrows she had left and put it in position. She drew the string back to her, but before she could set it loose, an enemy’s arrow pierced through her shoulder. She cried out in pain.

“Illia!” Farkus called out and looked back at the ridge behind them. A group of Silverhand were returning from their hunt and were unleashing their arrows on Illia. The girl could only duck down and use her surroundings as a cover. 

Farkus tried to think fast of what to do. He couldn’t leave Joriell in this ambush alone, but Illia was defenseless. 

“Farkus!” Joriell shouted over as his sword clashed with one of the Silverhand’s. He kicked managed to disarm the bastard before kicking him over the bridge. “Go back for Illia! Her firing has slowed down, she must have run out of arrows! I can handle these guys!”

Farkus nodded then started to make his way back over to the girl. In the meantime, Joriell began to summon all his strength. He searched for the words until finally they came back to him. 

“ **_Feim Zii Gron!_ ** ” with a single phrase, he had turned to an ethereal form. The blades of the Silverhand had no effect on him in this ghostly state. “ **_Fus Roh Dah!_ ** ” More men fell over the mountain side. 

Joriell could already feel the shouts taking a toll on his body. His limbs felt heavy and weak, but still he continued to fight. His blood was rushing throughout his entire body as he swung once more at the Silverhand.

Meanwhile, Illia was shoving the arrow through her shoulder, knowing that if she pulled it that it would cause more damage. Grasping it arrow’s head, she pulled it out from her back and tried not to scream from the pain. Wasting no more time, she ignored the throbbing agony in her shoulder and readied the arrow. Pulling the bowstring back to her cheek, she fired it at the elf woman who had stuck her first. She reached for another one of her own arrows, four now left, and fired once more at the hunting party, but missed. 

“Damn it!” she cried out. Blood was gushing from her wound, pouring all over her fur cloak and armor. She was going to bleed out if she didn’t do something fast. She ripped off the wool sleeve of her armor and used it to quickly tie a knot around the wound. In the distance, she could see Joriell shouting, but he looked exhausted. He had told her about the taxation the Words of Power brought upon his body, and the more he fought, the clearer it was to see. She had to get to him fast. Where was Farkus? 

Farkus had tried to make his way over to Illia, but had been detained by four Silverhand. They all converged on him at once, their silver blades ready to taste blood. Illia tried to fire at one of them, but kept having to duck from the hunting party that was making its way to her position. Frustrated, she fastened her bow and unsheathed two of her daggers. She said a quick prayer to Talos, then rushed down the mountain ridge at the hunting party.

One of them fired an arrow at her, and narrowly missed but provided her with the perfect opportunity to toss one at him. The thin metal pierced the Redguard in the throat. She then grasped another dagger and launched herself at the other three fighters. The two elven women were easy enough to get the advantage over. After leaping over one, she stabbed the Wood elf in the throat before stabbing the Dunmer in the chest. Kicking them both to the side, she narrowly missed the swing of an Orcish great axe. On the other end of it, an Orc towered over her. With an cocky grin, he smacked her in the mouth which caused her to fall back. Her head slammed hard against the road, but she did have the chance to catch her breath. The Orc brought his axe down on her once more, but she managed to dodge it despite the overwhelming dizziness. Rolling her legs over her head, she somersaulted backwards and pierced the Orc in his bicep on the way up. However, the beast seemed unphased by her blow.  He smacked the girl once more. This time, the taste of blood flooded into her mouth as she hit the ground. 

The Orc laughed and dropped his axe to the ground, deciding to take his time in killing her. Lifting her up by the collar of her shirt, Illia’s tiny body dangled mercilessly in the Orc’s grasp. She tried to kick out, but he ignored her protests. With a quick movement, he swung his meaty fist and punched her square in the face. Illia thought she was seeing stars, unable to make out much of what was going on around her. Before she could regain her thoughts, the Orc punched her again. She spat blood, the crimson liquid filling her mouth with each of his swings. 

“This is what you get for running with wolves, you dumb bitch.” he said tossing her across the field. Illia was relieved to finally be free of his hold, but he rushed up and kicked her in the gut. He went to kick her again, but this time Illia had a surprise for him. Thinking fast, she grasped her dagger and plunged it into his foot as he kick. The Orc’s black blood, soaked her armor as he cried out in pain. Gathering what little strength she had, she picked herself up and spat in his face. Blinded by her crimson spray, she grabbed her dagger and swiftly stabbed him in the chest.

 

Joriell felt as if he was carrying boulders on his back. His body was drenched in cold sweat and his skin was paler than normal. He managed to kill most of the Silverhand on the bridge with his Thu'um, but he felt like he could hardly move. The Greybeards had warned him of abusing the Words of Power, but he had never felt this ill before. Farkus had managed to defeat the four men who had attacked him. In the distance, he could see that Illia was badly beaten, but alive. She slowly made her way over to Farkus, spitting and wiping the blood from her face.

“Are you alright?” Farkus asked. The warrior had been injured, his shoulder struck by an axe and his face cut from a sword.

“I’ll be fine.” she said. Her head was pounding and her body felt broken and stiff. But she wasn’t about to show the extent of her injuries. Around them, the scattered bodies of the dead had stained the pale stone in a deep red color. Joriell was sticky with sweat and blood, but unharmed for the most part. He looked exhausted. “Let’s head inside and grab the fragment.”

Farkus nodded and took point with the trio as they headed towards entrance of the camp. 

  
  


Inside, the camp appeared vacant which was a relief to the injured warriors. The Silverhand looked as though they had been interrupted while cooking dinner. The cave ,which their camp resided in, smelled damp and like the food from the hearth. An assortment of sleeping bags were strung around around different fires. They must have entered into a huge camp. However, off to the right, there were stairs that they had cheaply built in a rush, that led to an upper living quarters.

“That’s probably where their leader slept. He probably had the fragment.” Farkus said “I’ll hang down here and keep a look out for more. Can’t be too careful.”

Joriell nodded and he motioned for Illia to follow him up the stairs. Farkus’ guess had been correct and they had found another living quarters. It was obviously better than the rest, containing an actual bed with thicker furs for warmth. A table sat next to it and contained a map of Skyrim. X’s were placed on different locations indicating eradicated werewolf hideouts. A big red circle had been drawn around Jorrvaskr.

“Illia,” Joriell began, confused as to the meaning of all the marks “Who are these people?”

“It’ll be better if Farkus explains.” she said then noticed the fragment of Wuuthrad on the table. She handed it to him absent mindedly and he put in in a pouch on his belt. “Well, we got what we came here for so we should-” Farkus cried out in pain, interrupting her thought. They looked over the ledge of the upper level and saw Farkus impaled on an iron great sword. The blade had been driven through his back, piercing him with a fatal wound. The wielder, another Orc, laughed as he kicked Farkus off the end of his blade. The warrior slumped in a stiff, bloody heap.

“Farkus!” Illia felt her heart break in two as her friend began to quickly bleed out on the cave floor. Joriell was in shock, but unlike Illia, he was able to focus. A group of ten began to surround them on the bottom floor, blocking the exit. Joriell ducked down, grabbing Illia along with him, as they started to fire arrows at them.

“Illia, I can get to Farkus, but I can’t take you with me. I need you to distract them.” he began, quickly hatching up a plan 

“How’re you going to do that?” she asked

“I have a shout-”

“You can’t shout any more, Joriell. It’s going to get you killed.” she protested “This will all be for nothing if we all end up dead.”

“I have to try, Illia.” he said “Can you keep them distracted?”

“I’m out of arrows.” she said 

“Think, Illia. There has to be something.”

“A spell...I remember a spell that Athis taught me when we lost in the wilds in Dawnstar. I don’t know how long I can keep it going, but it’s something.”

“Do it.” he said “ **_Feim Zii Gron!_ ** ”

Joriell changed into his ethereal form and began to sprint towards Farkus. The Silverhand tried to fire at him, but their arrows soared through his body like air, unable to pierce him. In the meantime, Illia began to roughly chant elvish words that Athis had taught her those many weeks ago. Flames began to spread across the cave, distracting the Silverhand long enough for Joriell to grab Farkus and drag him over to a safer corner. Somehow the warrior was still breathing, but he was barely alive. Joriell felt the wave of exhaustion over him as his ethereal form began to fade.

“Where’s Illia?” Farkus managed to ask in a hushed whisper

“She’s safe, but we won’t be for long.” Joriell said, trying to think of what to do. He knew he didn’t have the strength to shout again and Illia could only hold the enchantment for so long. None of them were in the condition to fight. They were going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Farkus knew it too. 

“You need-,” he began but began to cough up blood. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. He didn’t have much time. “You need to drink my blood.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

“We don’t have time to argue or you’re both going to die.” Farkus said, pulling a blade from his belt with what little strength he had left. He used it to slice open his wrist. “Do it.”

Joriell was so confused, but Farkus was saying this with such urgency that he couldn’t refuse. And he wasn’t ready to die, not yet at least. He pressed the wound to his lips and felt himself choke on the metallic taste of Farkus’ blood. He gagged but forced himself to swallow. Farkus smiled, but felt his feet grow cold. He had always been told that death would be peaceful, but instead everything was going black.

“Tell Vilkas-” he tried to speak but the words died in his throat as the heaviness of the darkness continued to overtake him. Joriell suddenly felt like he was choking. His skin was on fire, and everything he saw was red. What was this madness? The smell of blood grew stronger and he could feel the bones in his body begin to break. He cried out in pain, distracting Illia who was then shot with an arrow. She fell backwards, the arrow lodged in her rib. 

“Damn it!” she cried out, losing her concentration on the spell. She didn’t know if she was going to make it this time. But she wasn’t going to go without fighting. Shoving the arrow the rest of the way through her, she screamed and then locked the arrow in her bow. Her vision was blurring, but she was still deadly with her natural weapon. Aiming it carefully, she fired and hit the man who had stabbed Farkus with incomparable accuracy. She fell down in a slump, growing more dizzy from the loss of blood. Echoing throughout the room, Joriell continued to scream. She tried to stand, but could only manage to crawl over to a space where he was visible. 

The Dragonborn was screaming as his body violently broke and contorted. Beneath him, Farkus wasn’t moving or breathing. But the transformation was beyond familiar. Joriell’s face morphed and twisted, his green eyes changing to a deep copper color. He started to rip off his armor as his body continued to shift and twist. His screams slowly morphed into angry growls as his body began to fade into a sea of midnight colored fur. 

“Joriell, don’t!” she tried to stop him, knowing that he would regret it if the battle were to brutally slaughter the Silverhand. But Joriell was no longer himself. 

As a beast, he leaped unafraid at the firing party and swung his claws at them. One man was unable to move out of the way in time and thus lost his head in the foul swing. Joriell then turned to the rest only to be shot mercilessly with arrows. He cried out in pain. Illia called out his name once more, but he still didn’t respond. Instead, he grew more enraged and lashed out once more at the men. After slaughtering two more, the Silverhand went into a full retreat. But Joriell wasn’t done. He went on the hunt, leaving Illia alone in the camp. 

 

Illia crawled down the stairs over to the bodies of the dead Silverhand. She scrounged through the bodies, looking desperately for any way to heal herself. She lucked out and found a potion of minor healing. She swallowed part of it desperately, feeling her wounds slowly start to mend. The dizziness slowly began to fade. Finding the strength to stand, she limped over to Farkus’ body. Taking the bottle, she pressed it to his body’s lips in an attempt that she knew would fail. A healing potion couldn’t bring the dead back to life. She swallowed the last of the potion in disgust and began to sob.

“Damn it, Farkus!” she cried, the tears freely flowing. “How am I supposed to tell Vilkas that you’re not coming back? ”

Farkus didn’t reply to her pleas. She clutched his body, holding his cooling corpse as she wept. She would have faced Molag Bal a thousand times, consumed the beast blood, anything to bring her friend back to her. But there was nothing she could do...nothing but weep over his shattered body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, you probably hate me for this non-cannon chapter. Don't get me wrong, of all of the Companions, Farkus is my absolute favorite. Literally, every time he has ever died in the game, I have an instant restart, but I think it really works for what I'm going with here. Illia is going to be dealing with some major heartbreak. Not everything is happy in Skyrim. But she'll be stronger because of it.  
> Bet you weren't expecting Joriell to become a werewolf that way either. Actually, you probably did, I'm pretty sure I'm very predictable. Anyways guys, Happy Easter. I'll be sure to have more uploaded ASAP. Again, please leave comments and thank you so much for all the support. Over 70 hits!!! I did not expect that.


	7. Chapter 7

In the distance, she could swear that she heard the call of a lone wolf, crying out to the moon in a tearful cry of sorrow. She wondered if it was him. She knew that it was unlikely for him to return the first night. He was no doubt scared and confused. Was he angry for their lack of honesty, for their secrets? Without even a moment to consider, he had been forced to choose either the blood of the wolf or to perish. What kind of a choice was that? 

As she had watched the flames lick at Farkus’ corpse and consume him, she had felt her heart turn to stone. She no longer had the tears to weep. Instead, she had committed to watching Ria and Vilkas, who were in shreds. Vilkas tried to hide it, but in his hollow, silver eyes she saw the truth of his sorrow. He was blaming himself, they all knew it. In his mind, he should have gone with him and defended him. In the warrior’s mind, it was his fault that his brother was burning in a pit of flames.

Farkus had barely lived his life. He had never married, never fathered children, nor had he left any big legacy for future warriors to follow. He had died too young. Farkus the Kind-Hearted, that was all he would ever be known for. Illia had stopped her mind from racing further. Of course Farkus was more than that. He had been warm and welcoming to all of the new bloods, a fierce warrior, and loyal friend. He would have done anything to defend the Companions; the group that he had called his family. And she had loved him, not in the way that he had hoped, but as any girl would love a dear friend. 

 

A week had passed since the funeral and still there had been no word from the Dragonborn. She wasn’t sure if he would ever come back. Her heart ached at the thought, and then she would have to remind herself as she paced the halls at those waking hours that she couldn’t let her emotions take over like that. She was promised to Jarl Ulfric. Even giving him a kiss had been a betrayal to him. But still...the thought of him hating the Companions, of hating himself,  _ of hating her  _ ; No, she wouldn’t let her mind wander to that thought. The price of it was too painful. No...he would come back; she had to believe that.

  
  


~~~

 

The chill of the winter air could have cursed her toes to frostbite. Without the other new bloods, Tilda had only stoked the fire with a single log, leaving Illia to freeze. Her thin, white nightgown barely provided her with much protection from the cold, but the extra blankets seemed to make it more manageable. She was lying awake...again, unable to sleep. When she dreamed, Molag Bal and Farkus haunted her. 

A sharp knock caused her to sit up in bed in a fright. She turned to the window above her bed and looked out into the snowy landscape. In the shadow of the night, she saw his face, battered and bruised.

“Joriell!” she exclaimed, fumbling with the window latch until the cold gust of wind and snow entered the room. Joriell practically fell through the window, exhausted and weary. Locking the latch, she turned back towards him and helped him to sit up on the bed. She frantically looked at his body, looking for any major injuries. With a sigh of relief, she calmed as she saw he was unharmed. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. What ha-”

Before she could say another word, he swept her up in his arms and tightly embraced her. His breath was hot on her neck despite the icy touch of his skin, a cold sweat forming on his brow. Despite her better judgement, she held him tighter. He smelled of musk and pine mixed with the scent of rain, blood, and dirt. It was nearly intoxicating. 

“Yours is the first kind face I’ve seen in days.” he whispered as he inhaled the scent of her hair almost unwilling to let go. “I was lost, I ended up somewhere close to Windhelm. Naked and covered in blood; the guards feared me. Their bodies, I can still- I can still taste their flesh.”

Her fingers ran through his hair in attempt to soothe him as she hushed him with a soft voice. The muscles in his back began to relax as the stress began to release from his body. And then...he wept. They were quiet tears, ones of regret and shame. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.” she whispered as she continued to stroke his hair. She moved him so that they were both laying on the bed, his head resting on her chest as she still cradled his head. “Rest now.” she soothed as she felt his breathing steady. It wasn’t long before exhaustion overtook him and he drifted into a much needed rest in her arms. 

  
  


~~~

 

Joriell awoke, not remembering where he was. The scents of the room were intense; steel, iron, and fur. The soft smells of roses and honeysuckle lingered on his skin, and he opened his eyes to see that Illia was nowhere to be found. He sat up slowly, recognizing the room where the new bloods would stay. He sat up and found her standing in the archway. Her black hair had been tied into a long braid that fell just past her breasts. It seemed Eorlund had replaced her easily destroyed armor with a new set. It was still leather, dark brown, tightly gripping her curves and bosom. Instead of cotton, Eorlund had replaced the fabric with light chainmail. It was certainly flattering. She was ready for travel, her satchel across her torso and heavy cloak adorned on her shoulders. Daggers ran down the length of her hips and thighs, and her quiver and bow were strapped securely to her back.

“Tilda readied a bath for you and is cooking a pot of stew.” she said warmly “Bathe and eat. You need it. Then Kodlak would like to speak with you over what happened.” 

“Thank you.” he said roughly, his voice hoarse from thirst. “Illia, I must know. Are you one as well?” 

“No.” she answered “That is why I’m not part of the Circle. I refused the blood.”

“I would have had a choice as well then.”

“Yes.” she replied “But it seems the gods had another fate in store for you. I’m sorry, but I must go. Vilkas and I are going to handle a job over in Rorikstead. I shall see when I return.”

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

  
  


After the bath had removed the chill from his bones and his hunger had been sated, Joriell dressed in clean clothes and made his way towards Kodlak’s room. It was large and lined with many shelves. He had never thought that a warrior would own so many books. Trophies of all kinds; skeletons, deer mounts, and swords; all of them were hanging on the stone walls or in heavily locked cases. One caught his eye, an elven sword made out of the finest quicksilver ore. His fingers lightly traced the glass that held it, admiring it for all of its beauty.

“That was the sword I pulled from the hands of an elven general during the Great War.” Kodlak said as he made his way over from his bedroom. “I had offered him mercy, telling him that the war was all but finished. Still, he spat in my face and raised that sword to strike me down. Well...I’m sure you can deduce what happened there.” 

 

He poised his hand and motioned for Joriell to sit, an offer which he gladly took. Kodlak sat down in a chair across from him and poured himself a tankard of wine. 

“I’m sorry that you learned of our curse in this way, Dragonborn. I had not expected such an attack to happen-”

“No one knew what the numbers of the bandits were.” he replied “Although, it is obvious that they weren’t just bandits.”

“You’re sharp.” the old man said before taking a deep drink of his wine. “The bandits you were facing are actually a mercenary group known as the Silverhand. They work to hunt and track down the children of Hircine, or werewolves if you prefer the term. In an attempt to hunt us, they’ve worked at gathering fragments of Wuuthrad in order to draw us near.” 

“I mean no disrespect, but I have no need for an introduction into becoming a man-beast.” Joriell said “Is there a cure?”

“I’m searching for one as we speak.” Kodlak answered, uninjured by Joriell’s quick words. “I will inform you as soon as I hear word.” 

  
  
  


~~~

 

Joriell swallowed down his third bottle of mead since he returned to Jorrvaskr. As soon as he finished it, he reached for his fourth. The alcohol had almost no effect on him. Must have been the effects of the beast blood. He bit into a mouthful of sweet roll only to find it unsatisfying. Instead, he found himself craving for the taste of blood. The screams of his victims echoed in his ears, making the man inside cringe. But the beasts...both of them; the dragon and the wolf hungered for more. He was just about to give up and return to bed when Aela and Skjor approached him. 

“So, you’re one of us now?” she said with a peculiar grin “Perhaps, you’d like to help us on a little errand.”

“What kind of errand?” he asked, drinking more mead.

“There is another Silverhand camp just north of here.” Skjor explained “We’re going to slaughter them.”

“Hasn’t there been enough death?” 

“They killed one of our own. Our Shield Brother is dead because of them.” Alea protested “It’s what honor demands.”

 

“Farkus would not want this.” Kodlak said as he approached from behind them. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and empty. The two Circle members almost whimpered at his pain. “Our Shield-brother did not enjoy death. He did not want the call of the blood. He only fought when he had no choice.”

“They can’t get away with this, Kodlak” Skjor said, now standing to face the old man. “This cannot be allowed to continue. If we get rid of the Silverhand, we will never have to face this threat again.”

“I will not stop you.” Kodlak said. “Every man is his own in the Companions. But this won’t fix any of this, Skjor. It will only bring more bloodshed.”  The Harbinger gave no parting look as he walked off to the courtyard of Jorrvaskr. Skjor then turned to Joriell, who was still pondering the proposition.

“So what do you say?” Skjor asked “Will you join us?”

Joriell sat in thought for a moment. His blood called for the hunt. Every ounce of him called for the kill and for the revenge. Besides, he would never learn to control this thing unless he unleashed it. Who knew how long it was going to take for Kodlak to find a cure? Maybe it was hopeless. Skjor had also made a fair point. If there were no more Silverhand, they no longer faced a threat. 

“I’m in.”

 

~~~

 

The cold of winter clung ever tightly onto the night air. Skyrim was growing even more brutal with every passing day. However, Joriell could barely feel her wrath. One effect of the beast blood was an even greater resistance to the cold. From the tree line, he silently observed the smaller group of Silverhand as they made their way into their camp. 

This time, they had settled inside an abandoned fort. From what they had counted, only twenty of them resided inside, while three remained on watch. He could smell the scent of ale on them from the distance, which meant that they would probably be off balance. Skjor had decided to go on ahead using an entrance he found in the rear of the fort. The plan was for Aela and Joriell to draw their attention towards the front while he slaughtered from the back. 

“Can you smell the death on them?” Aela whispered to him from her spot near the tree line. 

“No. Can you?”

“Yes.” she said sniffing deeply. “They must have made a kill some time ago. You can smell the rot on them.”

Joriell nodded. It was amazing how comfortable Aela was with being a werewolf. It was as if the she preferred it. He didn’t know if he could ever get used to it. The constant yearning to break out of his skin was consuming. Aela locked an arrow in her bow and drew it back to her cheek. She motioned for Joriell to move on ahead. Drawing his sword, he stealthily moved on ahead. 

One of the men noticed him and drew his axe.

“Hey, who are you?” he called out, but before anyone could respond, one of Aela’s arrows pierced through his heart. Joriell rushed up even faster and plunged his blade into the jugular of the one of the other guards. The third one, a Bosmer, drew his bow and shot an arrow at Joriell. However, Joriell’s reflexes allowed him to catch the arrow before it hit his shoulder. The Wood elf’s eyes widened with fear as he turned to run, but Aela had already caught him in her sights. The elf barely stood a chance before her arrow flew through his chest. 

“That’s a nice trick.” Aela commended Joriell as she ran up to him. He tossed the arrow to the ground with a laugh. “Haven’t seen anyone be able to do that before. Then again, we usually duck when an arrow is fired at us.”

Joriell laughed. “Let’s keep going.” he said, opening the entrance to the fort.

 

Inside, spiked gates guarded the hallways that led to the lower quarters of the fort. Aela hung slightly behind him, her bow locked and ready for her to fire at the first sign of trouble. As they slowly made their way down, they stumbled across two more Silverhand who they quickly dismantled. 

“Do you smell that?” Joriell said, his nostrils flaring at the scent of rot. 

“Most definitely.” Aela said moving over to a door. She opened it and inside they found a werewolf’s corpse strung up by chains. He looked like he had been dead for a few days.

“They must have been trying to torture it for information.” Aela explained, noting the burn marks on the poor animal’s body. “The poor sod must have been locked up here for a while.” 

Joriell nodded, turning away from the dead creature. His eyes caught the sight of an unlocked chest. He opened it and was surprised to find two healing potions and five septims. 

“Waste not, want not.” he said, putting the potions in his pouch.

“Come on. Let’s keep moving.” Aela said with a grin. 

They came across several more rooms with one or two Silverhand. They died swiftly, but Aela seemed to be getting ancy. They should have converged with Skjor by then, but they had yet to run into the seasoned warrior. 

“I don’t like this, Joriell.” the woman said

“I’m sure he’s fine. He might have gotten lost; this place is like a maze.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Another few rooms and they found themselves near a forge. Aela was even more unnerved, but somehow she was managing to keep her wits about her. Joriell had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing what fate had probably awaited Skjor. The rooms had barely had any Silverhand, meaning that he might have come across a large group of one. The possibility of him being outnumbered was high. They trekked onward until they reached a single door with blood splattered across it.

“Who leads the Silverhand?” Joriell asked

“This group is led by the Skinner. Her reputation precedes her.” Aela explained “Are you ready?” This time she had put away her bow in exchange for her sword and shield. 

“Ready.” he replied then kicked down the door. 

There was no way to prepare for what greeted them when they entered the room. A Nord woman with platinum blonde hair was their to greet them. Her steel plated armor was soaked with blood, the liquid dripping from her fingertips. Her blue eyes stared through them like daggers. But it was what was hanging above her that sent chills throughout Joriell’s body. Skjor’s body had been strung up in the center of the room. Except he no longer looked like Skjor. His entire body had been stripped down to the muscle, his skin in shreds in different baskets.

“Ah, so you’re his party.” the Skinner said with a grin “I didn’t think that this old man was stupid enough to try to face me and my men alone.”

Aela’s face twisted into so many different expressions. Her eyes betrayed her horror and sorrow, but then the green irises flooded with a hot rage. 

“You bitch!” Aela screamed 

“Oh, did I kill your little lover?” the Skinner asked with a sneer. “Prepare to join him.”

 

Aela pounced without an hesitation, her rage fueling her movements. Joriell was about to join her when he realized more Silverhand were in the room. Thinking quickly, he attacked the closest Silverhand to him.

The Argonian in front of him slashed with a ferocity that he didn’t think possible. The scaled fighter was quick, using his tail as a weapon to trip of Joriell. But Joriell had not spent the past month training for naught. Illia had told them outside of their training sessions that the best way to slow an Argonian was through fire. Their scales couldn’t handle the heat.

“ **_Yol Toor Shul!_ ** ” he spat as flames escaped from his breath towards the Argonian. The man froze from the shock of the Shout. His scales instantly crisped up and he cried out as the burns began to cover his entire body. Joriell seized the opportunity and sliced through the creature’s belly. He collapsed and bled out in seconds. 

He then turned his attention to an Imperial woman. Her fur armor barely concealed her bosom. She cartwheeled over, daggers in hand. She jumped and slashed out his throat, which he barely blocked, and then cartwheeled in a different direction. He was surprised at how similarly she fought to Illia, her movements fluid and swift. And if she was anything like Illia, he knew that he had to strike her down quickly before she gained the advantage. And it her next place to strike would be-he turned quickly and the girl ran into his sword. Of course she would strike from behind next. She had been unable to stop in time before the blade had already gone through her. He kicked her body off of his blade and turned to look at Aela.

He had never seen someone fight so savagely in his entire life. Every time the Skinner moved, Aela was there to greet her with another blow. The only thing that was saving the leader was her steel armor. But he couldn’t watch for long before another Bosmer was attacking him. He was fairly unskilled and just seemed to be swinging his axe in hope that he would kill Joriell. He wasted little time on him, slashing off his arm before slicing his throat with his blade. He looked over at Aela once more, only this time she had completely leaped on top of the Skinner. She looked as though she had slightly transformed, her claws digging into the bitch’s shoulders. She bared her teeth and bit into the woman’s throat. Joriell felt fear strike through his entire body as Aela ripped a chunk of the Skinner’s throat out with her teeth. The Skinner screamed as she realized that she had lost. She collapsed onto her knees as she quickly began to bleed out.

“It doesn’t matter if I die. We will destroy your kind.” The Skinner struggled to threaten as she grew dizzy and her vision blurred. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Aela said “I’ve heard it all before. Burn in hell.” 

 

The fiery huntress quickly turned her attention to Skjor’s body. She quickly brought him down, his body stiffly falling onto her lap. She coddled him closely to her, her chin resting on the top of his head.

“I can’t believe those bastards got the best of him.” she whispered, her voice cold. Joriell stood wordless, unable to find the ability to speak. “Get out of here. I’ll see you at Jorrvaskr.”

“Aela-”

“Leave, Joriell.” she whispered, trying to conceal her anger. “Skjor wouldn’t have wanted the others to weep over him like they did Farkus. Go.”

  
  
Joriell stepped into the winter cold. His blood was still singing from the hunt, but regret muffled the thrill. Another Shield-Brother was dead, and he had done nothing to stop it. In fact, he had encouraged Skjor’s wrath. He began his journey back to Whiterun, his guilt as metallic as the taste of blood that still lingered in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so today has been a productive and bloody day. It's been pretty rad putting all these chapters together. My family doesn't do anything for Easter so honestly the only thing I did today was getting dinner with my boyfriend's family and a ton of writing. I'm really excited guys. Things have been super picking up for Joriell and Illia. ;) 
> 
> There's definitely been a lot of death in the past three chapters. I promise happy things will be happening soon. Thank you for all the support. I'll probably have another chapter up sometime this week. Feel free to comment and critique.


	8. Chapter 8

Evening was breaking over the second day when Illia finally returned Jorrvaskr. The fire in the center of the great hall was blazing, warming her after a frostbitten trip. After chewing on a piece of sweet roll that Tilda had left for the returning warrior, she made her way to the lower level. The job had been easier than what she anticipated. The male Nord she and Vilkas had been hired to intimidate went down easily, fearing the worst from armored warriors. Her talk with Vilkas though had been unexpected.

 

“I never thanked you.” he had spoken softly. It was the first words that were not an order that he had spoken to her in weeks. “Ria told me how you protected her from a spell, took the blow for her in fact. I’m grateful. I wouldn’t know what I would have done if I had lost her as well.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” she answered with no emotion in her tone “I did it for Ria.”

“No matter what your reasons were, I am grateful.” Vilkas said, kicking up the dirt in an awkward chuckle like he often did when he was nervous. “And I wanted to apologize, I shouldn’t have spurned you from my training. If you wanted, I would be honored to train you once more.”

Illia’s heart warmed at his sincerity. She punched his shoulder playfully.

“Don’t go soft on me, Vilkas.” she laughed “I’d be glad to learn from you once more.”

 

She entered the new blood’s room and washed the sweat from her brow using the nearby water basin. Rubbing her face dry with a towel, she was surprised to see Kodlak standing in the doorway. His eyes were unwavering as he patiently waited for her to finish.

“May I speak with you?” he asked, his grey-blue irises urging her to hear him out.

“Of course.”

 

She followed closely behind the Harbinger, their footsteps in sync as they made their way to his office. As she entered the room, he locked the door quietly behind him to give them privacy. Illia’s nerves were on edge, her mind instantly jumping to the worst case scenario.

“Harbinger-”

“I am a Nord, Illia.” Kodlak interrupted, uncharacteristic of his nature. The man before her did not resemble the one she had met when she first entered Jorrvaskr. Instead of tall confidence and pride, he seemed tired and old. The fire in his heart seemed to be dimming. “I am weak, Illia. Tired...my eyes are turning to Sovngarde, I have not long for this world.”

He paused and sat in his favorite chair, opening a bottle of mead and swallowing it down. Illia sat across from him, feeling unnerved by the heavy scent of liquor escaping his breath. Offering her a drink, she accepted it only as a sign of respect, barely sipping the bittersweet ale. 

“Do you know how our being werewolves came about?”

“Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine.”

“Blessings from daedric princes are hardly blessing; it is a curse.” Kodlak said “You were correct in your refusal, I would not wish this endless nightmare on anyone. Even in death, we are dragged by Hircine into his hunting grounds. A man-beast can never find peace among the heroes of old.”

“Then Farkus-”

“Is not at peace. If there is no peace in life, surely there can be none in death.” The seasoned warrior said before finishing the rest of his bottle of mead. “But after so many years of searching, this afternoon, I finally received the news I’ve been searching for. There is a cure, Illia. And I need you to gather it.”

  
  


~~~

 

The following morning, Illia walked down from the steps of Jorrvaskr. The pink and purple sky casted a shadow over the city, the only lights coming from nearby torches. Most of the city guards were dozing off at their posts, exhausted from being up throughout the night. Whiterun was a quiet city. Other than the occasional theft of a sweet roll, not much happened there. She walked past the dead tree in the center of the Wind District. She had seen a priestess of Kynareth praying there for weeks, hoping that the tree would spring back to life. Her efforts were fruitless. 

“Hello there, young one.” a Stormcloak soldier greeted her.

She was surprised to see them inside the city walls. She hadn’t heard that Balgruuf finally decided to allow them to station in Whiterun. 

“Hello.” she greeted, trying to make her way past the soldier. But the burly man wasn’t going to be leaving any time soon.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Illia Stormborn, daughter of Japheth and Lyanna Stormborn, would you?” he asked. Illia felt her entire body stiffen in surprise. What would a Stormcloak soldier want with her? Only a few had known of her presence in Windhelm.

“Judging from the look on your face, you seem to be the one that I’m searching for. Now you can come with me quietly like a lady and no harm will come to you. But, you will come back with us to Windhelm.”

“I believe you are mistaken.” Illia replied as she watched six soldiers begin to surround her. What kind of madness was this? Did Ulfric truly believe that he could take her by force? Her eyes darted to the staircase that led to the Plains District. If she got there, surely she would be able to get away. Climbing the wall would be an easy feat. If she could get to it…”I’m not the woman you speak of.”

“Don’t play coy with us, m’lady. The jarl has been none too happy about your abandonment.” The officer continued “Now come quietly.”

The soldier went to grasp her, but Illia kicked out, jerking him back. He shouted for his men to seize her, but Illia had already tossed her cloak in their direction, temporarily blinding them. Flipping over their shoulder, she landed on her feet gracefully and began to run in full sprint towards the Plains District. The wall….she had to get to the wall. She didn’t want to kill the soldiers, to do so would be an act of treason against Ulfric, but if the choice came between her family and their lives; her choice was an easy one to make.  

Sliding down the icy ramp of the stairwell, there was barely a pause as she continued until two men seized her by her arms, pinning her to the ground. The taste of dirt and ice flood her mouth as she felt them begin to bind her wrists.

“We didn’t want it to be this way, Lady Stormborn, but you left us no choice.” The officer said as she was lifted to her feet by the men. She looked him dead in the eye. He looked as any true Nord would, a thick, blonde mustache and beard cloaking his scarred and dirty face from the cold. 

“Who even said you won?” Illia growled for the first time in her life, barely able to contain her rage. If Ulfric thought he could have his men treat her in such a manner, he was sorely mistaken. Using the weight of the soldiers that held her to her advantage, she jumped up, using both legs to send the officer flying back into his men. She collapsed onto the floor, stiffening as she prepared herself for impact as she landed painfully onto her back before she shifted the momentum in her legs so that she somersaulted backwards and onto her feet. Jumping over her bound arms so that her wrists were now in front of her, she ran towards the abandoned Breezehome and grasped its gutter. Using all of her strength, she pulled herself onto the roof before the soldiers had completely recovered. 

 

Pulling a dagger from her hip, she used it to quickly cut her hands free before sheathing it once more. The soldiers were now beginning to fire arrows at her, saying that if they hit her that they could use a potion to heal her up before their took her back to Ulfric. Her nimble body running across the length of the roof, she jumped as she reach the edge, landing hard on her feet on the ground below her. The soldiers continued to pursue her, but she had reached her destination. Grasping the icy wall with her bare fingers, she pulled herself up and over before landing on the frosted grass below. Her momentum did not waver as she raced to the Whiterun stables, grasping Eorleith by his reins and saddling onto his back. Kicking him with her heels, she began to sprint down the road towards Falkreath, saddled Stormcloaks still following in a heated pursuit. 

She managed to gain distance between them until she noticed a familiar figure approaching in the distance. Joriell was taken aback by the chase ensuing before his eyes. He was soaked in blood, obviously exhausted from wherever he had come from. If she outran the soldiers, they might seize the man for questioning. He knew nothing. He could not be blamed for her lack of honesty. She slowed down, the Stormcloaks quickly gaining on her once more.

“No time for questions, get on.” she called out as Eorleith came to a grinding halt in front of the Dragonborn. Joriell didn’t waste any time and immediately saddled the steed. “Hold on!” She jammed her ankles even harder into Eorleith’s sides. He cried out at the feel of the urgency, and  forced his muscles to run faster in response to his master until the Stormcloaks were completely out of sight.

 

~~~

 

By the mid-afternoon, they were halfway to Falkreath, safe from the impending danger. They paused by a nearby stream, allowing Eorleith to catch his breath after such an ordeal. Her poor horse was exasperated, deeply drinking in the stream. Illia was grateful that the southern parts of Skyrim were a bit warmer. Although snow flooded Whiterun at night, by mid-day it would turn into slush. More often than not, it would rain instead. The outskirts of Falkreath, although wet and chilly, was still mostly lush green forests. The scent of rain, mud, and pine was refreshing; much to the weary travellers’ surprise. 

Illia was exhausted, her muscles aching from the intense chase. Her elbows and chest was sore from being pinned to the ground, her shoulders bruised from falling backwards on the pavement during her escape. Although the ties had been removed from her wrists, they had been tied tightly enough to leave markings. After tying the sated Eorleith to a nearby tree, she finally turned to Joriell. The warrior had remained quiet, remaining near the edge of the stream as he tried to wash the dried blood from his skin. 

“I hope none of that blood is yours.” Illia said finally, breaking the awkward silence between them. She wasn’t sure what to say. She had hoped to never have to tell any of the Companions the truth of who she was. It wouldn’t have been too hard to slip away in the night and return to Windhelm, to fulfill the contract that she desperately wished had never been forged. As she watched him now, even bloody and covered with dirt and filth, she knew the truth; It would have never been so simple as to leave him. 

And now, she had seen a glimpse of the man she was going to engaged to be married to. Ulfric had willingly sent his men to drag her back to Windhelm, against her will, to the point of violence. What kind of king would allow his men to fire arrows at their future queen? One unworthy of the title. 

“I am unharmed, if that is your concern.” Joriell spoke, his tone unreadable. He stood, his emerald eyes staring through her.“But I’m hardly the one to be concerned about. Why were those Stormcloaks after you?”

“I’m sorry, Joriell.” she whispered, her heart aching. The truth would hurt him. Would he hate her, or worse turn her into the soldiers that helped him escape Helgen? He owed them his life and his freedom. Any other person would be willing to trade another’s to repay the debt. “I haven’t been honest with you nor the rest of the Companions, and for that I am ashamed.”

“I care little for shame or dishonesty.” he replied “I don’t care what you’ve done, Illia. My only concern is if you are in harm’s way.” He was standing in front of her now, barely an arm’s length away. His once shrouded eyes were filled with mercy  and fear, fear for her safety. It flooded her with guilt for ever doubting him.

“I know.” she said softly, taking his hand and holding it to her heart. “My name is Illia Stormborn. My father is Japheth Stormborn, head advisor to the emperor of Tamriel, and a secret supporter of the Stormcloak rebellion. For months, my father has been working with Jarl Ulfric to fund his war, and gain support throughout Cyrodiil for his cause.”

Joriell paused, absorbing what she was telling him with a thoughtful gaze. He lips moved to speak, making her heart skip in fear of what he would say.

“What does Japheth get out of this?”

“My father sees Tiber Septim as a milk drinker, unworthy of his throne. He wants a Nord on the throne.” Illia continued “In return for funding Ulfric’s war in Skyrim, Ulfric will continue his war into Cyrodiil. With the support of the nobles, Ulfric will become not only the High King of Skyrim, but the Emperor of Tamriel.”

“I still don’t see how Japheth benefits from any of this.” 

“His bloodline will forever be tied to the throne.” Illia said

“How-” he paused, the truth finally hitting him. “You’re engaged to be married to Ulfric.”

The pain that washed over his face made Illia want to weep with shame. She had never wanted this, had never wanted to cause him sorrow. She should have kept her distance, should have never met his gaze. She should have left as soon as she soon as she saw him enter the halls of Jorrvaskr.

“Yes.” she explained “The plan was for us to meet at DarkWater crossing. From there, Ulfric would escort me to Windhelm where we would be wed in secret. That, of course, never went as planned. I feared the ambush at DarkWater Crossing meant that the Imperials knew of my parents betrayal. I fled Windhelm in hopes that my presence in Skyrim would remain a secret.”

“Do you love him?” Joriell asked. The air was still for a moment. Illia didn’t know how to respond to the question.

“It’s not about love, or what I want, Joriell.” Illia replied quietly “I have a duty to my family.”

“Fuck your honor and promises.” Joriell replied, his voice flooding with urgency. “If you had the choice would you marry him?”

“Of course not.” she replied “I’ve never even seen his face. He is a stranger, but that does not change the agreement that my father forged.”

“From what I’ve seen, Ulfric cares little for your safety or for the contract forged if he’s willing to allow his soldiers to potentially harm you. I see the marks on your wrists.” he said, looking to the markings. “Any man who would do this to his future wife is unworthy of Skyrim, unworthy of Tamriel, and unworthy of you.” 

“What I want doesn’t matter…”

“You can forge a life for yourself, Illia. Look what you’ve done on your own without your parents or Ulfric. Your life has been forged based on what you’ve wanted.” Joriell said “You can’t allow someone else to make a decision that’s going to change the rest of your life without considering yourself.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“But I do.”

His lips crashed against hers in a frenzy of teeth and tongue. She gasped under the weight of him as he pressed against one of the surrounding trees, unwilling to let her go. Not that she would let him. His hand cupped the back of her neck while the others pressed against the small of her back, causing her to be pressed closer to him and sending a wave of pleasure throughout her body. Soft breaths of pleasure escaped her lips as he trailed down the length of her neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive flesh. In a breathless whisper, she called his name and seized his lips once more. Her hands explored his hair as her tongue licked to taste the flavor of honey from his lips. 

This was what she had been wanting, what she needed, she craved. Their previous kiss had been chaste, only a small window into the passion they had for one another. She couldn’t let this go; not for Ulfric, not for her parents, not for some throne that barely mattered. She wouldn’t, she refused to. So she kissed him back, biting his bottom lips and kissing the length of his throat underneath the shade of the forest trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a steamy make out session. It's about time too. I guess they were just feeling it today. I should have another chapter up this evening. Thank you guys for reading and all of the support. It's honestly been fueling my writing in a way I didn't think possible. Normally I would have never let anyone read what I've wrote, so for people to be so supportive has truly been a blessing.   
> A couple ideas have crossed my brain lately. I was considering doing a small fanfic of Kodlak's backstory. Nothing nearly as long as this one (this is gonna be at least thirty chapters). I feel like I never seen anything about it. I have other ideas for fanfics, but I can't let you guys know them yet, otherwise it would be spoilers for future chapters. Please tell me what you think though. :D


	9. Chapter 9

It had taken an entire day to reach Falkreath. Nightfall had encompassed the dead city with only the guards walking the streets when they arrived. Illia couldn’t help but fall for the city’s charm. It was saturated in gloom, but also mystery. It’s biggest buildings were the inn and Jarl’s Longhouse. She didn’t know that jarls resided within longhouses. After such a long time within Whiterun, even the Palace of Kings, she had grown used to the sight of elaborate castles made of stone and tar. It was hard to believe that a city as important as Falkreath kept their jarl within a shanty house. 

Along the way, Illia had informed Joriell of Kodlak’s plans for a cure. Although he tried to hide it, the Dragonborn was overjoyed to learn that the nightmare wouldn’t last forever. The Harbinger had informed her that their curse was connected to a coven of witches on the outskirts of Falkreath. For their curse to be undone, their magic would have been destroyed. 

“We’ll stay in the inn and then go in search for these witches in the morning.” Joriell said as he stepped off the back of their carriage “Might as well get a hot meal while we’re here.”

“Food…” she muttered, nearly salivating at the thought. Her stomach growled at the thought. Even though Jorrvaskr was known for its feasting, Illia rarely had enough time to eat a proper meal, often substituting stews for bread. How her body had managed to maintain muscle was beyond her.

The Dead Man’s Drink was almost vacant. Two Nord men drank their mead in silence while the bar wench played sad music on her lute. Joriell seemed more on edge than normal. Was that just because of the werewolf side of him or something else? Illia wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it.

An Imperial woman with olive skin and light brown hair was tending to  the bar. She had a harshness to her face, but she greeted them with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Valga Vinicia. Welcome to the Dead Man's Drink. What can I do for you?” she asked in a nasally voice.

“Two rooms.” Joriell replied

“Sorry, but I’ve only got one available.” she replied “But it’s a double bed so you and your...friend can share.”

Joriell made a grimace but coughed up the gold. He also ordered two bowls of stew and some mead. Taking their food, they sat down at a bench near the blazing hearth in the inn. Illia devoured the meal fervently . Endless meals of stale bread and apples could only sate one’s hunger for so long. 

“Slow down or you’re going to choke.” Joriell said with a laugh as he took of bite of the venison stew.

“Shut up.” Illia muttered with a mouthful of food that she washed down with ale. “So where were you last night?” Joriell stopped eating, his face like stone. He swallowed hard as he forced himself to finish the food in his mouth.

“Illia, you should know something.” he said “Skjor, Aela, and I found a Silverhand camp last night and attacked it. Skjor did not survive.”

“Oh.” she replied softly. She took another swig of her mead, trying to swallow down the pain. She hadn’t grown that close with the old warrior, but the loss was still there. Vilkas would surely not handle it well, and Aela...she couldn’t even begin to imagine what she felt. Despite their attempts to keep it a secret, most knew that she and Skjor were lovers. On more than one occasion, Illia had passed by the hall to see Aela sneaking into the man’s room with little more than a thin robe on. She must have been in pieces. “Well, he died a warrior. That’s what he would have wanted.”

Illia could feel her appetite slowly vanishing. She quickly finished anyways, leaving the empty bowl on the bench. Joriell glanced at her for only a moment as she made her way to their room.

Tossing her satchel onto a nightstand, she threw herself onto the bed in a heap. Death was becoming such a normality these days. She remembered her first kill. A Breton had been capturing some of the young girls around Morthal. He had been using them as sacrifices in some sick, sadistic ritual to his god. She and Farkus had been sent there to stop him. Illia had disguised herself as a traveller and allowed the man to coax her into a fake security. He had taken her back to his home, a cabin out in the marshes, when he dragged her into the cellar of the home. Farkus had followed behind, but he didn’t know that the cabin had been protected by some barrier. Illia had been trapped there all by herself. The Breton had attempted to chain her to a stone table, where he would then cut out her heart, but Illia managed to slip out of them. There was the smallest bit of hesitation as she drove her dagger into his chest.

Everything had changed after that. Killing became easier with each passing day and she kept finding herself growing more and more numb to the blood. It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that in those brief moments right before she would plunge her blade into her enemies that she held their entire life in her hands. How was she any better than the bandits she fought so fervently against? She wondered if her mother would even recognize her.

“Illia?” Joriell began but felt his next question die in his throat. “Do you want me to take the floor?”

“No.” she said “It’s not as if we haven’t shared a bed together before.”

“Alright.” he said then started to strip off the heaviest parts of his armor. “I never got to thank you for bringing my armor back to Jorrvaskr.”

“Don’t mention it.” she said, trying to avoid looking at him. But her eyes still wandered.

Joriell’s back was raked with scars. The backs of his shoulders seemed to have taken the brunt of whatever damage had been done.

“Will you quit gawking at me?” he quipped as she caught her wandering eyes.

“I wasn’t-I just--” Illia defensively hid her face. “What happened?”

“It was from fighting the dragon in Helgen. I had to jump from a tower  that was being attacked and landed onto a burning inn. My hands were bound so there was no way to break my fall.” he replied

“What was it like? The dragon?”

“It was terrifying. It was completely black with glowing red eyes.” he said with a pause. He pulled out a cotton shirt from his satchel and put it on. “But the thing actually ended up saving my life. I was at the chopping block with Ulfric and his men when it attacked.”

“I’ve only heard rumors of them.” she said “It’s hard to believe that they’re real.”

“You’ll be seeing more of them.” he said “Something is bringing them back and I don’t know what. But I’m going to find out. They have to be stopped.”

“Well aren’t you just the hero?” she sarcastically replied. She stood off of the bed and grasped her own clothes. “Mind turning around?”

He obediently turned, keeping his eyes fixated on the wall despite the tension to look as her while she undressed. The release of removing the tight corset and chainmail was euphoric. Not dwelling too much in the ecstasy of it, she dressed into her normal clothes and then let him know it was alright to turn around. 

“So how do you think your family is going to react to your refusal to marry Ulfric?” he asked as he sat onto the bed next to her. He leaned back, resting his head on his forearm against the pillow, waiting for her answer.

“I haven’t the slightest clue.” Illia replied. She had given the idea much thought. “Perhaps they would understand. There must be another way to forge an alliance. Marriage is just the easiest way.”

“Could they be placed in more danger because of it?”

“Ulfric couldn’t protect them even if he wanted to. They are in Cyrodiil.”. She folded her leather armor quietly as she thought of her family. “My family knew the risks when they sent me here. But they believed in Ulfric’s plight. I don’t. I can’t trust in a man who is willing to let innocents die in order for him to seize power. The Empire had made peace with the Aldmeri Dominion. They were trying get Tamriel back on even footing before challenging the elves again. Ulfric has made us more vulnerable.”

“So you’ve never supported the rebellion?” Joriell asked, surprised to hear her opinion. With how strongly she had presented her father’s views, he had thought that she agreed with them.

“I did not agree with the worship of Talos being banned within Skyrim. However, at the time, it was the best decision. The Nords of Skyrim often forget that the Thalmor were winning the war. If we are to wage against them once more, we will need the help of the other races. This war is distracting from that and raising further divides within the region.” she replied. She laid down beside Joriell, brushing her bottom lip as she contemplated more.

“I saw the slums in Windhelm, what the locals call the Gray Quarter. The Nords have forced the Dunmer into poverty, and the Khajiit and the Argonians aren’t even allowed within the city walls. If Ulfric allows it to continue, it won’t matter what ties my father brings him in the Imperial Province. He will fail in his attack against the Thalmor.” 

“Then what’re you going to do?” he asked quietly.

“After we cure the Companions, I’m going to leave. I don’t know where yet, but I can’t remain in Whiterun much longer.”

“Then come with me.” The words escaped his lips before he could even think. Illia seemed stunned and confused. He turned to face her on the bed. “I can’t stay with the Companions. That was never my goal anyways. The Greybeards sent me there to learn how to fight. But my actual mission ,if that’s what you want to call it, is to master the Words of Power. The dragon threat is greater than what the jarls are allowing the people to know. I need to gain the power to stop them.”

“What good would I be to you?”

“You’re a capable warrior, Illia. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve learned a lot from you.” he said with a grin. “We’d always be on the move. We’d probably make money along the way and I could help you stay clear of Ulfric.”

Illia’s mind raced at the idea. Wasn’t he offering what she had wanted? A chance for battle and for freedom? Yes, she would be on the run, but wasn’t she already? It all seemed a little too good to be true though.

“I’ll need to think on that.” she answered “ But we should get some rest. We’ve got to hunt down some witches tomorrow.”

Illia awoke the next morning and dressed quickly in her armor before Joriell could wake up. She hadn’t shared a bed with someone other than when she was little. Waking up with someone breathing beside her was strange. She slipped on her boots and started putting her daggers in their sheathes. Deciding to get a head start, she walked into the foggy city in search of someone who would know where the witches resided.

She started with the guards, but they quickly shut down her questions. Many of the locals seemed unwilling to answer where the witches’ coven was. She was just about to give up when she stumbled across a vast graveyard towards the east part of the city. There, a High elf priest was tending to the dead. She approached the Thalmor, carefully observing what he was doing.

“It’s fine, my daughter.” he spoke as he watered the Nightshade that grew over the graves. “I know what you’ve come here to ask me. The locals are making such a fuss about it.”

“Then I suppose you can help me.”

“Yes, let me just mark it on your map.” the priest said as he set his watering can down. He made his way over to Illia and marked a spot towards the west on her map. “It’ll be a blessing to finally be rid of those wretched women, if that’s what you’d call them.”

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Blessings of Arkay upon you, my child.” the elf said with a pleasant smile before returning to his flowers.

She turned to leave when a roar echoed throughout the city.The soft whisper of a threat sent a shock of fear down priest’s spine. He went to grasp Illia’s hand, but she pulled it back.

“Child, we must not waste time. We’ll not survive if we wait out here.” he said desperately, trying to get the girl to follow him.

“No, my friend is at the inn.”

“It’s too late for the inn! A dragon is about to descend upon the city!”

“And my friend is the Dragonborn! Now please, let me go!” she called out. 

The High elf didn’t waste anymore time. He released her and ran to the Hall of the Dead, planning on hiding in lower levels. Illia took the chance to run towards the Dead Man’s Drink.

Joriell had been slipping on his armor when he heard the call of a Thu'um ringing in the air. Rushing to finish lacing up his greaves, he grasped his sword and ran outside. Illia was there to greet him at the door. She looked pale, nervous from the impending danger.

“Have you seen it yet?” he asked, moving past her. She immediately followed at his side, readying her bow.

“No. But it sounds like it’s hovering over the mountain pass nearby.” she said pointing towards the ridge right above the town. The thick, gray clouds made it almost impossible to see anything. But they caught the smallest glimpse of its gray wing.  “Do you think that it is going to come this way?”

“It wouldn’t be hovering like that if it wasn’t. It’s bored and in search of a challenge.” he said

“What challenge could a dead city like Falkreath offer?”

“Us.” he said, seeing the wing reappear. Only this time, it didn’t revert back into the clouds. In the distance, he could begin to see the dragon heading in their direction with no intentions of turning back. “Now Illia, do as I say. Get to a high point in the city and avoid being seen. You fire at every opportunity that you have, but if that dragon notices you; you get out of there.”

Illia nodded in acknowledgment. Wasting no time, she noticed her vantage point on the top of the Jarl’s longhouse. Using a barrel as a boost, she jumped onto the roof and positions herself towards the tallest part of the tower that sat on it.

Joriell tried to meditate for the briefest of moments, but the dragon was only a few miles away. His blood, his  _ real _ blood, was ready for the fight.

“ _ Dovahkiin, Zu’u fen kun hin slen nau yol!”  _ the words echoed throughout the hold as the dragon approached. The beast was magnificent. It’s eyes were bright, like pools of icy blue. Scales that were emerald and copper flowed down its back , yet its horns were jet black. He feared the beast’s claws could tear any man to shreds. Joriell unsheathed his sword, measuring the weight of it in his hand. The steel seemed to be growing lighter with each passing day. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Sure enough, the dragon unleashed its flame on the city’s houses. Inside, he could hear mothers and their children begin to scream. But still, no one would risk coming out. The guards began to unleash a barrage of arrows, but the steel barely pierced through the dragon’s thick scales. Joriell shouted and turned ethereal, avoiding any of the wounds that the dragon’s flames would have caused him. Illia had managed to avoid the flames, but barely. She started to fire her bow at an astounding rate. The good thing about a dragon was that it was a large target which made it difficult to miss. Drawing her bow to it’s full extent, she hit the beast in the throat, but it seemed unphased. She swore in frustration. Luckily, the dragon seemed to be paying more attention to the guards than to her.

The creature landed and began to unleash a blaze of fire from its nozzle. Joriell seized the opportunity. Sprinting at break neck speed, he raced to face the monster head on. With his form still ethereal for the moment, the flames only warmed him. He felt no pain. He slashed the beast and caused a giant gash across its mouth. The dov cried out enraged and tried to bite down at Joriell, but he missed. The Dragonborn had already barrel rolled out of the way, but his ethereal form had changed back to normal. That was when an arrow came and pierced the beast in the eye. Joriell looked over to see that Illia was already readying herself to fire another arrow. Blinded on his left side, the dragon had been unable to see its assailant. But it wasn’t going to go down without a major fight. It began to flap its wings.

Now that it was in its element, Joriell was forced to wait until it landed once more. However, he was astonished to see what the creature was beginning to do next. It soared up to the highest point,  just above the clouds. Then it came tumbling down. Wrapping its wings around its body, it began to spin as it descended.

_ “ _ **_Fus roh dah!_ ** _ ”  _  The dragon shouted a shout so powerful that the buildings around them began to shake. Illia could feel the roof of the Jarl’s longhouse begin to give way. But before she could move, the creature began to breathe fire onto the town, making it impossible to get to the ground. The beast shouted once more, this time causing Illia to lose her footing. She started to tumble down the roof, barely catching the gutter around the roof. Flames began to lick at her legs, making her want to scream, but she pulled herself up once more. Yet there was no relief, the creature collided with the Dead Man’s Drink, causing the entire building to collapse in a ball of flames. Joriell managed to duck behind a stone wall that lined the path as the splinters flew at the nearby pedestrians. As quickly as it descended, the dragon began to ascend once more.

“Joriell! It’s flying up once more! Falkreath is going to be in ruins unless we do something!” Illia shouted over the sounds of collapsing buildings. Joriell nodded, his minding racing at what to do. Then he thought of something.

“Illia! I’m gonna do something, but you aren’t going to like it!” he said and then went in a full blown sprint to greet the dragon as it began its descent back down. Illia was about to protest, but the dragon shouted, causing her fall through the roof of the jarl’s home. She landed painfully on top of a table. Broken glass from the dishes dug into her skin, but otherwise she was unharmed. She looked around, to find that the jarl and his servants must have fled elsewhere. Joriell glanced back for only a moment, but then turned his full attention to the dragon in front of him. It went to shout once more, but this time, it coupled flames with the shout. Joriell smiled, beginning to feel the power of the dragon’s Thu’um. Using every ounce of his energy, he shouted back.

**_“FUS ROH DAH!”_ **

Joriell felt all of his energy be drained out of him as the shout escaped his lips and collided with the dragon’s voice. But his Thu’um caused the flames and the unrelenting force to send the dragon flying backwards. Off balance, the dragon collapsed and crashed into the ground. The ground shook beneath him and some of the buildings began to collapse  in on themselves. The force sent Joriell flying off of his feet and smoke fogged the air, making it impossible to see. The sounds of buildings collapsing roared in his ears, but his body was exhausted from the shout.

Ears ringing, he coughed as he breathed in the smell of smoke and sulfur. The dirt and smoke that had created the fog began to dissipate slowly. Squinting his eyes, he looked to wear the dragon had landed to see that it had impaled itself on one of the buildings. A familiar warmth began to tingle within his body, the electricity slowly beginning to burn until a single word echoed in his mind.

**_“Gol”_ **

Slowly, the flesh of the dragon began to burn away until nothing but bone remained. Joriell began to examine the town. The inn and a few of the homes had collapsed in, but it seemed as though most of the city had survived. He stood slowly, breathing easy as some of the flames began to subside from the efforts of the townsfolk. He looked around, trying to find Illia. That was when he realized that the Jarl’s longhouse had been one of the buildings to cave in.

“Illia!” he raced over to the house and began to move the rubble. She had to have survived. There was no way that Illia was going to die so easily. He found a beam and shouted it out of the way, feeling himself be drained more. “Woman, you better not have died!”

He heard someone cough beneath the rubble. He began to dig with even more fervor. Slowly, he began to unearth and oak table.

“I’m under here!” Illia called out, trying to dig her way out. Her fingertips began to emerge from the wood and dirt. Joriell grasped them, digging her arm out. Not long after, Illia had managed to make it out from beneath the rubble. Joriell pulled her out of the mound of dirt. He was immediately thanked with a harsh slap to the face.

“Hey! What was that-” he began to protest, but Illia had jumped on him in a hug.

“You idiot! You could have gotten yourself killed!” she yelled into his ear as she hugged him tightly. “Don’t you ever do something so stupid again!”

Joriell was frozen, unsure of what to do. Against his better judgement, he began to laugh as he hugged her back. She pulled away almost immediately.

“What?” she asked, her temper beginning to flare up.

“You tell me to stop the dragon, I stopped the dragon. Now you’re upset that I stopped the bastard. There’s nothing I can do to make you happy.”

A few hours later, they had brushed the dirt and ash off their clothes and began to make their way towards the mountains outside of Falkreath. Absorbing the dragon’s soul had renewed Joriell with energy. It was the same every time he absorbed dragon souls. The Greybeards had informed him that the more souls he gathered, the less taxing it would be on his body. Illia had remained quiet throughout most of the trip though. Something about it set his teeth on edge. Whenever she was quiet like this, her mind was normally lost in a pit of dark thoughts that not even he could reach.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked

“You.” she said without much more of an explanation.

“Well, I’d be on my mind too. I’m decent with a blade, the Dragonborn, not bad on the eyes either.”

“No.” she said, her tone was serious. She was in no mood to play games. “You...you’re supposed to kill those things. You’re supposed to stop them.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’re just one man, Dragonborn or not. Those things are monsters, Joriell.”

“So you doubt me?”

“No.” she said, realizing what her words insinuated. “I know you are strong. I see how you are gathering your strength. If there is any hope of us surviving those things, it’s you. But how are you to do this alone?”

“Thus my reasoning for asking you to join me, Illia.” he said with a laugh, unphased by her earlier comment. “You blinded that thing without much effort. You can damage them in the air when I can’t. I have to basically stand around and pray to Talos that the bastards come down.”

Illia brushed off his words and continued to walk onward. She didn’t know why she was hesitating. Although she saw the dragons as powerful, she didn’t fear them. She would fight anything that stood before her even if it meant that she would die. It wasn’t like she was planning on staying with the Companions either and she trusted Joriell. But something made her hesitate. And Joriell could see it, but beyond that, he knew why.

“You don’t have to carry your burdens alone, Illia.” he said “Running from the Stormcloaks; you don’t want to drag me into your problems.”

“Of course I don’t!” she said “And of course, you keep sticking your nose in them! Why do you do that? You go into all these different villages and help anyone with everything without a thought for your own safety. You didn’t hesitate to run straight first into that dragon and didn’t care what happened to you! You’re the Dragonborn. You’re no use to anyone dead! And I’m not going to bring you any more trouble. I can’t-”

Before she could continue to speak, he swept her up in another kiss. Not one as desperate as before, but comforting and soft. His tongue teased her slightly, the sweet taste of apples on his lips. He pulled away slowly, and much to her dismay. “Illia, you’re not forcing your problems on me. I want to help.”

“I will not put you in more danger than what you already are, Joriell.” she interrupted. “I’ve seen enough of my friends die here in Skyrim. I will not add you to the list.”

“I don’t care if it places me in more danger. If I can deal with fire breathing dragons then a few Stormcloaks are nothing. And as long as we’re on the move, we’re not going to run into them any time soon. So quit fighting with me and come with me, you frustrating woman.”

“A frustrating woman!?! And yet, I’m supposed to jump at the chance to travel with you!” she teased, an evil smile spreading across her lips.

“I have fought dragons that are less of a pain. Hell, I dealt with a drunk and angry Njada, and you’re still more vexing.” His crooked grin thrilled her as much as the game did.

“And you snore like a troll. It doesn’t help that you reek of wet dog too.” she countered

“So I take it you’ll be joining me?” he said a grin, completely leaving the girl speechless.

“Let’s just kill some damn witches.”

~~~

“Talos be damned, you can slay a dragon on a moment's notice, but try to get you to climb a mountain side is like pulling teeth!” Illia said as she jumped to next stone. The pair had discovered that the Glenmoril witches didn’t seem to get out much because the path to their home had been destroyed. The only way to reach the cave where they dwelled was by climbing a steep mountain side. For Illia, this was an easy task. However, Joriell had been struggling for the past couple of hours.

“I’m sorry, but who is the one wearing heavy steel armor?” he shouted back, lagging behind. He pulled himself up, straining under the weight of the armor. “Not all of us get to run around in skimpy leather, princess!”

Illia’s cheeks turned fiery red. She contemplated kicking some of the rocks down to fall onto him, but thought better of it. Instead, she leaped up once more and finally made it to the top of the mountain side. Waiting for Joriell, she examined the entrance to the cave. Two bloody human skulls were positioned on stakes as a warning. The arch around the cave was decorated in some type of language that she didn’t understand. Joriell pulled himself up and noticed what Illia was examining.

“Well, I can tell you that’s not dragon language.” he said “Beyond that, I’m clueless.”

“What else is new?” she replied with a playful grin. “Come on, I doubt some witches are that hard to kill.”

Inside, the cave was pitch black. The pair was careful not to make any noise, making small movements. As they descended deeper into the depths, the tunnel opened out into an open room. In the center of it was one of the witches. Illia was disgusted. With all the dark magic that they had involved themselves in, the witches had lost their youth and beauty in exchange for longer lives. Their hair was haggard and dirty, like wet, white straw. Their skin looked as if it was beginning to rot and their hands had shifted into talons. They were no longer humans; they were Hagravens. Closely behind her, she could feel Joriell shift as he fought a gasp. She looked over to him, meeting his green eyes with her blue ones, and motioned for a straightforward attack. He nodded with her in agreement and quietly unsheathed his sword. Illia did the same and readied her bow. He stood barely making a sound as Illia drew back her string. With a second nod in his direction, she fired and hit the Hagraven in the throat. The witch barely yelped as she quickly bled out. She exhaled in relief. She hadn’t been expecting her to go down so easily.

After examining the room once more, it was clear that their presence had gone unnoticed. Walking over to the corpse, Joriell began to chop the head of the witch off. Pulling out a burlap sack from his satchel, he stuck the bleeding head inside and attached it to his belt. Illia tried not to gag.

“One down. Three more to go.” she whispered

Joriell pointed towards another cavern that had been carved into the complex. They made their way through it, the tunnel growing darker and darker as they travelled forward. After some jagged turns, they ended up in an open area once again. The path continued, wrapping around a freshwater pool that was in the center of area. On the opposite side, they could see a tent made out of human flesh and bone. On a pedestal, it looked as though a goat had been used in some type of sacrificial ritual. She turned her attention to the tent when she heard something stir. The Hagraven was breathing heavily. The smell of blood grew stronger in the room as she entered which made Illia feel dizzy. Ignoring the disorientation, Illia drew back the bowstring to her cheek and fired an arrow. This time, she pierced the woman in the eye. She collapsed instantly. Joriell smiled and made his way over to the corpse. He beheaded yet another one.

“I gotta tell you, I think the hardest part of this journey has been the dragon.” he said, sticking the head into the burlap sack.

“Yeah. As long as we’re quiet, we can wipe them out easily.” she said. Joriell smiled once more and was about to make his way back when she grasped his wrist. “Joriell, once we cure the Companions, I’ll go with you.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked “Dragons aren’t Hagravens.”

“I know and I am.” she said with a laugh “Besides, if I leave you, you’ll end up doing something stupid and getting yourself killed.”

“Of course.”

“So, where do you think we’ll go first?”

**“I’ve heard Morthal is beautiful this time of year.” **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, we're nearing the end of the Companions quest line. It's one that I play very often (specifically because I want to marry Farkus) There's about two chapters left for Illia and Joriell at Jorrvaskr, but then we get into the real fun ;) Stay tuned to find out.  
> Frankly, I had fun with the banter that occurred between the two of them in this chapter. I really was pulling from my own relationship with my boyfriend. A good 35% of our conversations are just straight sarcasm. (If it was just sweet, romantic stuff of the time, where would the fun be?) New characters should be entering the mix soon. I think the first new original character will appear within the next four chapters. The second one should arrive soon afterwards. I think you guys are really going to like them. The second one to appear is my baby <3 His character is very special to me and I had a lot of fun thinking him up. But that's all that I'm going to say.  
> Thank you for all of your support guys. I really mean it. We finally beat 100 HITS!!!! I didn't know such a thing could happen. Feel free to leave your kudos and comments. :D


	10. Chapter 10

Snow blanketed the rolling valleys and hills over Windhelm. Many of the residence had decided to take shelter within the locals taverns and their homes. Some of the Khajiit, who had been camping within the caravans, had allowed the frigid Argonians reside within their humble tents, huddling for warmth along the outskirts of the walls. Metal footsteps echoed throughout the city as guards continued to make their usual rounds, dressed heavily in extra layers of fur and cotton beneath their steel armor. Their blue banners, embellished with gold embroidery meant to form the shape of a bear, were the sole source of vibrant color in the ivory landscape.

Standing alone from the rest of the sleeping town stood the Palace of Kings. Within the ancient stone walls, the palace hummed with the soft echoes of servants finishing their final jobs so that they could retire to their chambers. Within the main hall, candles softly glowed their orange light within the darkened foyer. Long, oak tables were lavishly adorned with blue cloths and silver platters filled to the brim with wine and decadent foods. Salt, horker, and pheasant breast; the scents permeated throughout the hall, warming the blood before the vibrant heat from the fire could reach one’s bones. 

Large banners with the Stormcloak crest lined the walls along with decorative swords and shields. To enter the halls of the Palace of Kings was to enter history. So much had happened within these walls. Ulfric would often reminisce over the days he would run and play pranks on the servants as a child. He had been a menace, often chased off with broomsticks by the older woman. When he would complain to his father, the old jarl would laugh and say ‘Perhaps if I allowed old Grelod to punish you more, you would be more apt to listen.’. 

The memories of his father caused an aching in his soul, deeper than any wound he had suffered. When he agreed to join the Greybeards to learn the Way of the Voice, he hadn’t realized the cost. He would spend only eleven years with his father. His mind drifted to Arngeir. He wondered if he felt above them, puny fools that they were, fighting for a throne that would be meaningless in death. The old man probably thought that he was foolish as well; he had even said as such when he returned home after word of his father’s death. 

Yet, he could not abandon his people; he could not abandon Skyrim. Japheth Stormborn had offered him the chance to create everlasting peace. To finally be rid of the Thalmor would mean that the race of men would never have to fear for their freedom again. All the tears mothers shed when their sons never returned, or the widows that lost their husbands to the end of a Thalmor sword ; their pain would not have been in vain. Yet, none of it mattered if the Stormborn girl continued in her dishonourable conduct. 

When he first read her letter, his heart felt peace. She was young, much younger than she was, yet her tone had been that of a woman. She knew her place and her duty. Yet, her little incident with his men showed him that she was just some child, running loose and wild. Although...her ability to quickly evade his men did give him pause. To think that the girl had grown so much in such a few short months, perhaps she was a true Nord at heart. He had heard the rumors of the new warrior among the Companions. Many within the Whiterun had spoken of her with words of beauty and danger. Those who lusted for her would also tremble in fear at her gaze; the traits of a true queen. No matter, he would allow her to continue in her fancies for the time being. In the meantime, he would continue in his plans to invade Whiterun.  

Glamor watched quietly, arms crossed as Ulfric ran his hand through his own hair. It was something his friend often did when he was lost in the thought. The old Nord grunted, his face as cold as stone. Ulfric knew his friend was a bit radical at times, even for Ulfric, but his unwavering loyalty knew no bounds. At times like these, he couldn’t afford to lose such honorable men.

“Tell me, Ulfric,” he grumbled in a rough voice, hoarse from ordering soldiers and thick with the true Nordic heritage. “How long will you lie in wait for Balgruuf’s answer?”

“Balgruuf is a good man, a true Nord.” Ulfric replied, his voice lost in the dark fog of midnight thoughts. “I have to have hope that he will remain loyal to Talos and to Skyrim.” 

“But how long, Ulfric?” Galmar asked, his gray eyes filling with intensity as they often did when they challenged Ulfric. “The dragons are beginning to return, and last we heard the Dragonborn had left High Hrothgar. None have heard much about him since.”

“I’m fully aware of the situation with the dragons.” Ulfric replied “I was there when they first returned. I fear more blood will be shed if the menace is not handled soon.”

“What was his response to your summons?”

Ulfric laughed, remembering the sight of his courier apologizing and sweaty profusely as he informed the jarl of the Dragonborn’s response. The Dragonborn, Joriell Greywinter as he had come to be known as, was bold. In his message, he had made it clear that he sided with neither the Imperials or Ulfric. His mind was focused on the dragon crisis, at least for the time being. Still…

“He will have to pick a side eventually.” Ulfric replied “From Ralof’s stories of him from Helgen, I believe he will make the right choice.”

“And for the girl-”

“That girl is going to be your future queen, Galmar.” Ulfric admonished 

“Right...as for Illia Stormborn, if that’s what you prefer to call her-”

“We shall leave her be for now, if that is your concern.” the jarl replied “The people seem to be taking a liking to her already. Perhaps her exploring Skyrim wasn’t a bad idea after all.”

“She’s drawing attention with the Companions.” 

“Of course, as I’m sure she knows.” Ulfric replied “Not much word has spread except within Whiterun hold. I’m not certain she’ll stay for long. The Imperials are unaware of her presence, but the longer she remains; the more danger she places herself in.”

“You truly believe she knows that?”

“She managed to outsmart and outfight my men with ease.” Ulfric said, readying to retire to his chambers. “Battle takes more wit than strength, and she has shown both. So yes, I believe Illia is fully aware of her situation.”

~~~

“Do you smell that?” Joriell asked as they entered the city. The streets were empty, not unusual at this time of the night. Yet, there was an odd stillness in the brisk air. Dark clouds were beginning to form and envelope the city, this time bringing rain instead of snow. She could catch the scent of baked goods and of mead, but little more. 

“Smell what?”

“The blood and the rot.”

They made their way towards the Winds District, and were surprised by the amount of guards that remained there. Even some of the locals had gathered at the base of Jorrvaskr’s stone steps. Bodies littered the steps, staining them darkly with fluids. Athis approached them with a limp in his stride, his shoulder bloody from battle. Torvar raced to him, sweeping him up in a kiss.

“I know, Torvar, I know.” Athis replied, running his hand through the hair of his worried friend and lover. “I’m fine.” 

Aela watched with a grimace, her eyes still running over the dead Silverhand that lay fallen around Jorrvaskr. Blood streaked her cheek as she ran her hand to wipe away  silvery beads of sweat from her brow. She looked to the approaching pair, her expression unreadable. 

“I don’t believe that there are more.” she said coldly “But more may come.” She then turned to Athis and Torvar, who still had not separated from their embrace. “Tend to your wounds. Who knows who might appear?”

“Aela, what happened?” Illia asked, her eyes desperate for an explanation.

“The Silverhand have finally made their strike.” she growled, her hatred for the mercenaries dripping from her lips. “It will be there last.”

Illia moved towards Jorrvaskr. Practically sprinting up the steps, she opened the doors to see Ria crouched near a bloody corpse. Kodlak’s mane of salt and pepper hair was drenched in blood. An deep, ghastly wound had been struck in his chest, more than likely from an axe. His expression was empty with no indication of what had been his final thoughts. Ria wept openly, her hormones making it impossible to contain her emotions. Illia closed her eyes tightly.  _ This has to be a dream...this has to be a dream... _ she chanted over and over again in her mind. It took every bit of concentration to will herself not to cry. 

“You! Where were you?” he growled as he approached. 

“I was out doing Kodlak’s bidding.”

“Well I hope it was worth it because it means you weren’t here to defend him.” His silver eyes were intense and bloodshot. His entire body was sitting on edge. If she had not known better, she would have thought that he meant to strike her. But her heart broke for him. Out of all them, Vilkas had lost the most in the past few weeks.

“Vilkas, we have the cure.” she said gently and slowly. His eyes looked up in surprise. “Kodlak told me how the curse seeps deeper into the soul and how at death, your soul will be dragged to the Hunting Grounds of Hircine.”

“So Farkus...and now Kodlak. Neither of them are at peace.”

“They aren’t. But we have a way to purge their souls.”

“Yes, but it will have to wait. The Silverhand…” Vilkas clenched his fists in a fury. “ They have taken our fragments of Wuuthrad and have killed not only my brother, but now my master as well. Their little cult must be destroyed. And you and I are going to be the ones to do it. Gather your things Illia, this is the last time a Companion will fall to these bastards.”

Illia shoved a few healing potions into her satchel. After tossing her fur cloak around her shoulders, she strapped a quiver of arrows around her. She struggled for a moment, but eventually managed to fully tighten her leather greaves.

“Illia,” Joriell spoke as he entered the room

“I already know what you’re going to say, Joriell.” she said, not meeting his eyes “And I know that this is dangerous. But we’ll be fine.”

“Vilkas is not in his right mind. He can’t protect you. He’s in too much of a rage.”

“I don’t think I’m coming with him so he can protect me.” she argued “I’m going to protect him.”

She went to leave, but he blocked the doorway. Joriell didn’t know why, but he was unwilling to let her go without speaking his mind. He didn’t care that she thought she would be safe.

“Joriell, let me pass.” she spoke quietly yet sternly.

“There has been more than enough bloodshed, Illia. And it's not just on our side.” he began “This isn’t worth it anymore.”

“That may be true, but that man ,our friend, he is in pain. Joriell, he’s lost both of his masters and his brother within the past five days. Are we to deny him his vengeance?” she questioned “I won’t do it, Joriell. Vilkas deserves better than that from both of us.”

“What is the point of vengeance if he’s dead? You remember what happened last time we stormed a Silverhand camp?” he retorted “Farkus died! And then Skjor! Is revenge worth Vilkas’ life? Is it worth yours?”

“I’m going, Joriell!” she finally yelled at him. “And there is nothing you can do to stop me. Now let me pass.”

Joriell tried to hide how furious he was, but his eyes betrayed him. His friend was going to get herself killed, and Vilkas was going to lead the way for her to do it. Despite all of this though, he knew that once Illia made up her mind that there was no changing it. He let her pass with the smallest ounce of hesitation.

“This won’t change anything, Illia.” he said before she walked through. “Kodlak, Skjor, Farkus; they’ll all still be dead when we wake in the morning.”

“Yeah, but we’ll feel a hell of a lot better.” she said, flipping her hood over her black hair as she walked away. 

She knew in her heart that Joriell was right. Attacking the Silverblood could cost them more. But Vilkas could not see that now. If he left without her, chances were that he would surely die. He would be irate and unable to think clearly. She had to protect him, no matter what the cost.

~~~

Illia could barely keep her teeth from chattering as she crouched down in the snow. Although the leather kept the water from seeping into her armor, she was still freezing. The only warmth that she was had was from her cloak. Beside her, Vilkas seemed unphased by the cold. It was probably a perk of the beast blood.

“Can you see how many are out there?” she asked, only able to make out three shadowy figures.

“I can see three, but I smell five.” Vilkas replied. “There’s probably two more in the tents nearby. Can you take out the three with your arrows?”

“Yes, but they’ll notice me almost immediately, so be prepared to fight.”

“Always.”

Illia pulled a steel arrow from her quiver and locked it to the bow string. Drawing the string back to her cheek, she took in  a deep breath and aimed at her target. The elvish woman at the other end of her bow wouldn’t know what hit her. It would be quick and painless. That was more than what she could say for the other Silverhand. Vilkas unsheathed his great sword, ready to drive the giant piece of steel through someone’s heart. She looked up to him, waiting for a signal. With a small nod of his head, she let the arrow loose and it plunged into the woman’s chest, killing her instantly. It took a moment for the other Silverhand to realize what had happened to their friend. But a moment was all she needed. Drawing back her loaded bow once more, she fired and pierced an arrow through a Redguard man’s heart.

“Wolves!” they screamed, but Vilkas was already descending upon them. The enraged man swung his sword, practically slicing an Argonian in half before he turned to face another Nord. The Nord came at him with an axe, but Vilkas blocked it precisely with his blade. The Nord appeared large and more muscular, but Vilkas was stronger. He kicked out at the man which caused him to fall backwards. Then Vilkas drove his sword through his stomach, twisting the blade as he pulled away.

“No!” a Nord woman cried out as she watched the man  be slaughtered. Tears rolled down her pale face which twisted into hot rage. With barely a moment of hesitation, she jumped out at Vilkas, her movements lacking any sort of discipline. The woman was fighting with only her rage instead of her mind. Vilkas dodged her swings until he caught her wrist. His grip caused her to drop her blade, and he punched her brutally. She fell to the ground, landing on her stomach. Grabbing her by her red hair, he pulled her head back to expose her throat.

“Join him.” he whispered between clenched teeth before slicing her throat.

Illia watched in horror for a brief moment. But then she saw the fifth man running towards Vilkas at full speed. She quickly launched an arrow and he collapsed stiffly. Illia ran over to Vilkas who was still standing over the dead Nord woman. She was almost frozen from realizing her friend had just committed cold blooded murder.

“Vilkas, I think we should leave.” she said placing her hand on his shoulder gently.

“We aren’t turning back now.”

“Vilkas, you didn’t just kill that girl. You murdered her; you enjoyed it.”

He smacked her hand away, startling her. She tried to move, but he had already seized her by her throat. He pinned her against the wall. His eyes had changed from a bright silver color to a deep copper color. His rage was beginning to cause his beast blood to come forth.

“What makes you think that I won’t do it to you!?! You weren’t there to defend Kodlak. You didn’t protect my brother. Tell me, Illia, did you just stand there and watch as he bled out? Or did you feign tears at his expense?” His grip was growing tighter which made it even more difficult to breathe.

“Vilkas, you need to calm down.” she managed to get out between gasps for air. She paid attention to her daggers, trusting that they were within her reach. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she would if she had to. “I’m not your enemy. Let me go.” She let her hand fall at her side and grasped her dagger, not unsheathing it yet. “Let me go!”

Vilkas’ grip slowly loosened. His eyes started to change back to silver and eventually, he let her go completely. Illia gasped for air.

“I’m sorry, Illia.” he said “I-I--I lost control.”

“It’s okay. But Vilkas, I don’t think you should keep going.”

“No, we still need the fragments,” he said ignoring her. “I will keep myself under control.” Before she could speak another word, he had opened the door to the fort and had entered.

As they entered, they were immediately descended upon by two Silverhand. On her left, a giant, burly Nord attacked Illia with a swing of his axe. She moved just in time, but the axe caught her cloak. The metal collided with the floor, trapping her for a mere moment as the man turned to attack her once more. Vilkas, on the other hand, was dealing with an orc that towered over him in size. He pulled a mace, smashing it into Vilkas’ sword. The metal almost gave way from the sheer amount of force. Wide eyed, Vilkas swung out at the orc, trying to throw him off balance. Meanwhile, Illia had ripped off her cloak and leaped onto the back of the Nord. She reached desperately at a dagger that dangled from her thigh sheathe as the Nord changed tactics. He began to slam her against a wall, but she hung on to dear life. She reached yet again for her dagger until her fingers grasped the hilt. Gaining a better grip, she drove the dagger down through the Nord’s jugular. Blood gushed from his wound, ruining her armor but her goal was accomplished. He collapsed stiffly on his knees before toppling over. She then turned to the Orc who was occupied while fighting Vilkas. Spinning the dagger using her fingertip to gain momentum, she launched it at him and it struck his throat. He collapsed within moments.

“Nice save.” Vilkas noted coarsely.

He then walked over to a door while she gathered her cloak and dagger. Kicking at it and pushing at its entrance, he realized that it was barred down.

“Damn these Silverhand to Oblivion.” he muttered “Illia, help me get this door open.”

Illia nodded and began to help him push open the door but to no avail. She cursed then began to look around the room. She smiled as her mind flashed with an idea. Taking a bottle of Alto wine that was sitting on a nearby table, she tossed it at the door.

“What are you doing?” Vilkas asked impatiently.

“Shut up and back away from the door.” she said, getting frustrated with him. She looked around on other shelves and managed to find two more bottles of ale. She tossed them at the door as well. Then she grasped a torch sconce from the stone wall and threw it at the wooden door. Almost instantaneously, the door went into a fervent blaze. Slowly, the flames began to die down as they met the stone of the walls. However, the fire had done its job. The doors were severely crippled. Seeing this, the pair charged into the door causing it to splinter and burst open.

They entered a room completely fortified by stone. On opposite sides, two tables were covered in a banquet of venison and goat meat. The aroma of salt and smoke filled the air. In the center of the room, they were three warriors. One was completely armed in steel plated armor while the other two remained in traditional fur armor attire. Vilkas and Illia readied themselves.

“So, it seems the wolves have sent their pups.” the steel warrior mocked in his arrogance “It’s our lucky day boys. We get to finish the pack off.” The man unsheathed an Orcish greatsword.

Illia reacted instantly. She immediately unleashed two arrows on the other warriors without even blinking. They collapsed as they choked on their own blood. She went to fire on the steel warrior, but the arrow ricocheted off of the armor without even leaving a scratch. He laughed then went full force at Illia, but Vilkas shoved her out of the way, blocking his blow with his steel greatsword. Illia hit the ground hard, but she ignored the throbbing pain and unsheathed one of her daggers. She examined the warrior’s armor, looking for some type of opening, but he was almost completely covered in the steel. She couldn’t waste more time looking though as the warrior tossed Vilkas in the other direction. Thinking quickly, she jumped up onto his back.

“You need holes to see, don’t you?” she laughed that drove the dagger through the hole in his helmet, piercing his eye. He screamed in agony, but grasped her by her hair. He slammed her small body onto the stone ground with enough force that made Illia feel as though every bone in her body shattered. With a gloved fist, his metal hand collided with her bare face. Her ears were ringing and everything in the room was spinning. 

He went for another blow, but Vilkas slammed into him with full force. His teeth were bared and this time, he noticed the small gap between the shoulder pads and the helmet. Thinking quickly, he grasped the dagger from the man’s eye and drove it through. The warrior began to choke on the blood, trying to grasp his throat to stop from bleeding out, but it was useless. Within seconds he collapsed onto the ground dead. Ignoring the corpse, Vilkas immediately turned to attend to Illia, who was trying to stand up slowly.

“Careful now, you crazy child.” he said with a small laugh “I need to train you more on maintaining your position on an opponent’s back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” she said with a laugh and then began to limp over to the tables.The fragments of Wuuthrad had been placed in some bowl with gold and jewels, kept as some sort of momento of their previous victory. Illia’s hand clenched around them tightly as relief washed over her. The Silverhand were finally gone. Somehow, it did bring her some sense of peace.

**“Let’s go home.” **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, there is only one more chapter left for the Companions questline. And honestly, I'm kind of happy about that because it can be difficult to write about constant battle. Eventually, it kind of sounds repetitive. But I'm excited for the following chapters because they are INTENSE!!!! I'm already in the process of shaping them.   
> By the way, did you guys see the Torvar/Athis ship coming? I didn't but I think they'd be so CUTE if they got together. <3   
>  Finally, Ulfric has been introduced into the mix and I LOVE IT. I was thinking of having him appear in earlier chapters but I normally ended up squashing those ideas because it created a lack of depth for his character. And Ulfric is a super deep character!!! Like even in the game, people who hate him still respect him. Some view him as a hero, others as a usurper; I personally view him as neither. I just see him as a man trying to defend his country. And not exactly in the best way.
> 
> So, I plan on posting the next chapter in a week or so, but I also will be publishing a separate piece. It's part of my own original works (has nothing to do with Skyrim, I know that sucks) and I wanted to get your guys' opinions on it. So please go ahead and read it. You don't have to follow if you don't want to but do let me know what you think of it. I should have it posted the same day as the 'Stormborn' chapter.   
> Again thanks so much for all of your support. Please feel free to comment and critique :)


	11. Chapter 11

Soft ebony skies enveloped the city of Whiterun. Above them, stars dotted across the dark canvas like silvery glitter being tossed in the air; they were numerous. It was possibly the most beautiful night that Illia had seen in Skyrim. Vilkas’ gaze turned towards the heavens above with a numb demeanor.

“I’ve had to bury three brethren this year.” His voice was barely a whisper “Farkus...I never told him how I loved him. Now I wonder if he ever knew.”

“Farkus knew.” Illia replied “He would speak so highly of you, Vilkas. He loved you and he looked up to you. He wouldn’t want you to be overcome with grief when you have so much to look forward to. He would have wanted you to live your life.” 

Vilkas nodded, his mind still a million miles away. The streets of Whiterun were peaceful once more. The guards had carefully disposed of the bodies, somehow managing to dull the stains of blood on the pavement. The air smelled faintly of honeysuckle and grass; the scents of spring finally beginning to spread throughout the land. 

“Ria wants to hold off on our wedding until after she gives birth.” Vilkas said thoughtfully “I don’t know what the future holds for you, Illia. But I get the feeling that you’ll be leaving us after this, more than likely to join your new lover in his quest-”

“He’s not my lov-I--I don’t know what he is.” she replied, her cheeks flushing pink as she grew more flustered. Vilkas, for the first time in what felt like weeks, finally let out a small chuckle. 

“Sure, but the path that the gods are laying out for you is clear. You will follow him, will you not?”

“It seems so.”

“As such, I have a request, will you return for our wedding?”

“Of course, Vilkas.” Illia replied “You and Ria are very important to me.” 

Jorrvaskr seemed...empty. With Kodlak, the hall had remained full even with their loss, but the missing presence of the wise Nord was disturbing. After washing the blood from their skin, the warriors returned to the top of Skyforge, where they found their other Shield-Brothers preparing for Kodlak’s last rights. From what she could see, Torvar openly showed affection to Athis in an attempt to console him. Njada remained somber and quiet with a look that could kill as she always did. But this time, she turned towards Illia and gave her a nod of respect. Aela was just as cold, her green eyes looking more amber as the days passed by. Without Skjor, she found more comfort as a beast running free in the wilds in comparison to remaining awake within her human form. Ria approached Vilkas, taking her hand in his before she kissed his forehead. He smiled weakly before placing a hand on her still flat belly. Illia’s blue eyes searched for Joriell, who was standing quietly off in a corner with Eorlund. He seemed to relax a bit more when he saw her.

The Harbinger had been washed clean of any imperfection, his body bathed in perfumed oils. Eorlund had spent much time reforming his armor that it would be resilient in the next life for the old man. All had worked long throughout the day to gather enough would for the fire. After soaking it all in oils, they finally placed Kodlak on the hearth. 

“Who will start?” Eorlund asked. All remained quiet, too afraid to speak.

“I’ll do it.” Aela said, taking a torch from the old man. “Before the ancient flame…”

“We grieve.” The Companions grew in confidence at the speech as they spoke in unison.

“At this loss…” Eorlund spoke.

“We weep…”

“For the fallen…” Vilkas continued.

“We shout..”

“And for ourselves…” Aela spoke once more.

“We take our leave.”

Aela approached the tinder with shaking hands before she finally placed the burning torch on the wood. The flames quickly engulfed the alter, licking at Kodlak’s remains until it was shrouded in a cloud of sweet smelling smoke. 

“His spirit is departed.” Aela said quietly, her heart stricken with grief. “Members of the Circle, let us retreat to the Underforge to grieve our last.”

Joriell moved with the rest of the Circle to make his way to the Underforge. His eyes caught hers, relieved that she had returned unharmed, but he didn’t speak a word as he vanished with the other Companions beneath the Skyforge. Illia was making her way down the stairs to eat and rest when Eorlund caught her attention.

“Illia, perhaps you could do me a service.” he said, his gray eyes hopeful “Vilkas informed me that you have the fragments of Wuuthrad.”

“I do.” Illia said, handing over the pouch that contained the fragments.

“Good. There is one final fragment that Kodlak kept near him at all times.” Eorlund explained “I would go look through his things, but I fear it would be improper, but if you were to do it-”

“Say no more, Eorlund.” she replied “It will be done.” 

Joriell was quiet as he listened to the bickering between Vilkas and Aela. It was at times such as these that he wished Farkus was still alive. He would have been able to quiet both of them quickly. Aela was enraged at the thought of a cure. It was understandable. With Skjor dying as a werewolf, he doubted she wanted to be separated from him for eternity. In death, they could be reunited in the Hunting Grounds of Hircine if she remained as she was. Vilkas, however, was more inclined for a cure. He was soon to be a father; he wasn’t even sure if his child would be clear of the taint. To know that there would be a chance for both of them, he couldn’t let it go. His brother wouldn’t have wanted him to. 

“It is what the old man would have wanted.” Vilkas argued “There are six heads. Two to cleanse Kodlak and Farkus’ spirit. Two for myself and Joriell. One for my child should he have the taint.”

“I do not wish it, Vilkas and you cannot make me.” Aela replied, barely containing her wrath “I will not take this cure.”

“You don’t have to.” Joriell finally cut it, his temper flaring. It was becoming harder and harder to contain. The beast blood yearned for the kill just as violently as his blood of Akatosh yearned for domination. The combination made it near impossible to contain himself. “But we will cleanse their spirits Aela; you will have no say there. The very reason this cure was found was because Kodlak wished to be rid of this curse.”

“I understand this, Dragonborn.” Aela replied, her voice full of respect for the man who had helped her take her vengeance over Skjor’s murderers. “However, we will need to enter the tomb of Ysgramor. It has been locked away for centuries. No one can enter it with Wuuthrad in pieces.”

“Why should that be reason to be locked away?” Joriell asked. In his time with the Companions, he hadn’t learned much about Ysgramor or the axe he wielded. Most of his time had been spent fighting. 

“Wuuthrad is the key to Ysgramor’s tomb.” Vilkas explained “ The warriors of old made it that the tomb could not be raided by bandits, but instead, it would be entrusted to only the Companions.” 

“So no cure can be made as long as Wuuthrad is in pieces.”

“It would seem that way.” Eorlund said as he entered the Underforge along with Illia. In his hands, he held the sacred axe of old. Wuuthrad was beautiful and deadly to look upon. A two handed weapon, the handle was engraved with the ancient language of the Nords; the blade was enchanted with the flames of the Skyforge. The fury of the Old Companions was blazing from it. “Wuuthrad has been reforged, the lost tomb now able to be opened. You will be the first to enter the tomb of Ysgramor is centuries. You will cleanse our brothers’ spirits and rid the Companions of this curse forever.”

His gray eyes turned to Illia, much to her surprise, and he handed her the heavy blade. She hesitated, unsure of his meaning.

“You will be the one to carry Wuuthrad for the final time.” he said solemnly 

“But I-”

“You were the one Kodlak sought to cure the Companions, and you shall be the one to finish his quest.” Eorlund said, his hand still holding out the blade. The others watched her with intense eyes. There were no objections as Illia stood frozen. Swallowing down her nerves, her slim hands curled around the length of the blade, testing its weight in her hands. It was heavy, much heavier than what she was used to. But she would carry it into its final resting place. 

“For Kodlak…” The words escaped her lips in a wispy breath. 

 

                                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Snow blanketed the mountain side around their camp. All four of them had found themselves up to their knees with the stuff. Vilkas had already attempted to gather some rest, quickly setting up and tent and falling inside. With the beast blood, the man hardly got any sleep. He couldn’t wait for that to change. Aela, on the other hand, made not time for rest. Instead, she had gone off on a “hunt” as she called it. She hadn’t been back for hours, leaving Joriell and Illia the only ones awake in the campsite. Despite this, they had hardly spoken. Illia, disappointed, quickly set up her tent and disappeared within its warmth. Outside, Joriell stayed near the fire for quite sometime before he could bare it no longer. 

He approached her tent, gently knocking on the fabric until she invited him inside the small make-shift home. Everything in the room smelled like her; the scent of roses and honeysuckle decadent and sending his nerves on edge. She was still in her armor, although she had stripped off the boots and gauntlets so that she would feel more free.

“Is there something you need?” she asked coolly, unwilling to reveal her insecurity from his lack of words. It didn’t matter though; the sound of her heart beating through her chest told him all that he needed to know. 

“I’m glad that you returned unharmed.” he replied, his voice almost drowned out by the howling of the wind outside. “I regret not saying so when you arrived.”

“Things were fairly intense.” she replied “I know that you meant nothing from.” 

“May I join you?” he asked

“Of course.”

He sat behind her in the tent, filling the small chamber with even more heat. His scent was so raw, like pine and spices, causing her head to swim. His bottom lip twitched as he went to find the words to speak, but Illia didn’t want words. For the first time in her life, she was tired of them. Before she knew what she was doing, her lips were crashed against his. 

He was surprised at how forward she was at first, but it didn’t take long to ease underneath her touch. His tongue swept across her bottom lip as a hand tangled throughout her ebony mane. Another arm wrapped around the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. She gasped in his mouth, causing him to grin in a hunger. He wanted more of it, more of her sounds and mews of pleasure. Before Illia had a moment to catch her breath, he had flipped her onto her back, causing her to giggle and slightly cry out in surprise. 

“Sorry.” He pulled away slightly as he apologized in a breathy chuckle. She wasn’t going to let that happen again. She caught his lips once more, causing his attention to focus solely on her as she moved to kissing and biting his neck. Her groaned as he felt hot pleasure begin to pool in his groin. A quieted cry of wanting escaped from the back of her throat as she felt him slightly grind against her lower part, causing her to bite harder against his neck. For a moment, she had thought she had hurt him. Instead, his lips were on hers once more as his hand wrapped one her legs around him.

“Joriell…” His name escaped his lips in a desperate cry. She didn’t know the silent question that she was begging from him, had never experienced her blood rushing under another person’s touch. But she wanted more. 

A growl escaped the back of his throat as his hand explored underneath her armor, the skin was soft and riddled with scars. His strong, callused hands began to unlace her top, exposing her belly and smalls. His lips moved from her, causing her to whine in yearning for a moment before his kisses began to trail down her stomach. Goosebumps spread across her skin as her hairs stood on end with the unfamiliar feeling of another’s touch. But it felt euphoric as if she flying and falling all at the same time; the sensations filling her with adrenaline. She didn’t know how much further she wanted to go, but she didn’t want him to stop. His lips met hers once more, breaking her from her thoughts as he bit her bottom lip. His hand cupped her covered breast, massaging the soft mound beneath the fabric and causing her to cry out in his mouth. 

“Let’s get a move on.” she heard a voice call from outside. Aela must have returned from her hunt, causing the pair to groan in frustration. Illia’s blue eyes caught Joriell’s for a moment as a smile spread across his handsome face.

“To be continued at another time.” he said with a frustrated sigh, kissing her once more before pulling himself off of her and exiting the tent. 

Illia threw her head back in frustration, the blood still rushing to her veins. A sense of embarrassment washed over as she realized how exposed she had been, almost half naked. If it wasn’t for her smalls covering her, her breasts would have been out for the world to see. She had never let someone see her that exposed before. Pressing her thoughts to the back of her mind, she quickly laced up her armor and followed Joriell outside.

                                                                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Ysgramor’s tomb was located north of Winterhold among the fields of ice within the Sea of Ghosts. The final resting place of Ysgramor had suffered much throughout the decades. The once great stone walls had become prey to the elements, the heavy bricks cracking and breaking from the wind, ice, and sea. As broken as it appeared to be, somehow, the tomb was still standing, and that was all that mattered. 

“I doubt even grave robbers come here.” Aela noted as she began to climb down the stairs. The wood creaked beneath her weight, but somehow they remained sturdy. The others followed quickly behind until they finally entered the halls of the tomb. 

Inside stood a tall stone statue made in the image of Ysgramor himself. From what she could make out, he had been a strong man with Nordic features. A long flowing beard had graced his old and somber face. Even in the stone, one could see that the man had witnessed hundreds of battles. Illia could only imagine what his features would have been to see in person.

“I’m afraid that I can travel no farther.” Vilkas said suddenly, breaking the quiet amongst everyone. “I traveled as long as I could for Kodlak and for my brother, but I-I--my heart still grieves.”

“No one can blame you.” Illia replied softly although Aela seemed uncompassionate towards him. It made sense. Aela was grieving the loss of her lover and Kodlak as well. Vilkas seemed to ignore her cold reaction though.

“I don’t regret what we did to the Silverhand, Illia.” he replied “But I’m not ready to enter the tomb of Ysgramor. But please, we’ve traveled so far. Return Wuuthrad to her rightful place.” 

Illia looked at the statue, admiring its craftsmanship once more before she climbed on top of it so she could place Wuuthrad back in the hands of Ysgramor. The weapon was heavy, a couple of times she nearly dropped it, until finally it fell in place within its master’s grasp. The walls of the cave shook for a moment as the halls echoed in the change. Slowly the wall behind the statue began to shift and recede away as it revealed the entrance to the inner chamber.

“Let’s go.” Aela said, no longer hesitating. Illia jumped down, gracefully landing on her feet and followed behind Joriell to the chamber within. 

Smalls drips from water entering the cracks within the stone echoed within the halls. Only drafts of wind and their muffled footsteps made any noises of movement. Still, the air felt as though it was tingling on her skin. Something was stirring the spirits in the area.

“Watch out!” An unnatural arrow fired in the direction of the unsuspecting Aela. Illia acted solely on instinct, shoving the war maiden to the ground. The arrow scathed a bit of exposed skin, blood started to drip slightly from Illia’s arm. But the pain was minor. In front of them, a woman stood with long, golden hair and the darkest brown eyes that Illia had ever seen. She was beautiful, obviously a half-elf  Breton. Yet, her look was otherworldly as if she didn’t belong.

“You are not true Nords.” she muttered beneath her breath as she raised her arrow once more at Illia and Aela. But Joriell was faster, slamming into the spirit with all his might before slicing her away with his blade. 

“I don’t seem to believe that we’re welcomed here.” he muttered. They stood, awaiting another attack, but none came. They moved onward, only running into a few spiders along the way. Yet, as they approached the next turn, they could clearly hear the sounds of water echoing off of the walls. 

As they entered the chamber, they realized that they were two feet deep in freezing ice water from where the Sea of Ghosts had found its way inside the tomb. With a moment of hesitation, Illia stepped inside and quickly regretted it. The sting of cold soaked through her armor, chilling her to the bone and causing her to tense up. Swallowing down the urge to cry, she pressed onwards with chattering teeth as Aela and Joriell followed her. Both were chilled, but it didn’t take long for their beast blood to get them used to the frigid waters. Sometimes she couldn’t help but think that being a werewolf wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

They moved slowly through the water until Joriell and Aela finally took the lead. Yet, the quiet didn’t last for long. Along the walls, different warriors with the same ethereal form as the Breton girl appeared and began to ready themselves for battle. 

Two archers began to fire their arrows at the trio while two swordsman approached from the other direction. The three ducked beneath a platform to escape the arrows, submerging themselves more within the frigid water. Illia felt like her chest was going to collapse in on itself. Her slim fingers turned pale and felt numb to the touch, unable to properly move. But she couldn’t waste time on that.

“I’ll give you cover from the archers.” she said, readying her bow. Aela and Joriell nodded, unsheathing their blades as Illia rose to start returning fire at the spirit archers. Her numb fingers slipped, causing the string to roughly slap her forearm, leaving her with a large black and purple bruise. She winced, but locked another arrow in place before letting it loose once again.

Joriell met blade to blade with one of the warriors, who tried to take a swing at his shoulder. The Dragonborn guarded against it easy enough and took the opportunity to slam his shield into the spirit’s chest, sending him off balance. 

The spirit fell onto his back, leaving him open to the next wave of Joriell’s attacks, but one of the archers started to fire upon him in an attempt to protect his ally. Aela was turning ferocious as she began to tear apart the spirit in front of her with a vengeance. With a simple spin of her blade, the spirit vanished. The archer who was attacking Joriell quickly vanished as one of Illia’s spears pierced him through the heart, dispersing into a clear vapor that quickly disappeared in the air. With his distraction taken care of, Joriell vanquished his foe with ease while Illia fired a final arrow at the fourth. The girl stood there for a moment, teeth still chattering, as she strapped her bow to her back. 

“Let’s--keep---moving.” she said, walking farther through passage until they were once again on dry ground.

They continued to move throughout the maze of the tomb, until they reached another set of stairs that descended further down. However, there was no water this time. Seeing that it was vacant of spirits, they approached a great set of iron doors that remained. Along the lines of steal, carvings in the ancient Nord language told the tale of old Ysgramor and the battles he waged against the elves. The wood, although haggard and worn, was still strong. They opened it slowly, entering a room with a single burning blue flames. Surrounding it were the spirits of Farkus and Kodlak. 

“So, it seems as though you’ve finally made it.”

“Kodlak….Farkus…” their name escaped Illia’s lips in a childish whisper. “How-why--”

“We’ve been hiding from Hircine, trying to avoid his hunting grounds.” Farkus explained, his eyes softening as he looked upon her face. It was the first amount of warmth he had seen in weeks. His eyes shifted to Joriell and Aela, who were standing with wide eyes and open mouths. “Our beast blood has prevented us from entering Sovngarde.”

“Did you bring the cure?” Kodlak asked. It was Joriell who nodded, tossing a bag of decapitated heads onto the ground. “Good, cast them into the fire.”

Illia picked up the bag from the stone floor, her knuckles whitening from how tightly she was holding them. She approached the flames, feeling the heat spread across her skin, a final relief to the chill that plagued her. Holding her breath, she tossed two of the heads and watched at the fire consumed them. The alter exploded with a vibrant light, leaving them all blinded as Farkus and Kodlak screamed out in agony. From their spirits erupted two giant wolves, blood thirsty and wild; their eyes locked on their targets. The first wolf instantly jumped for Illia, pinning her to the ground, while the other charged at Joriell. 

**_“Fus Roh Dah!”_ ** the words escaped from his lips, causing both creatures to fly in the opposite direction. Jumping quickly to her feet, Illia unsheathed her daggers while Aela provided assistance with her bow. The small girl leaped at one of the wolves, driving her dagger down it’s spine while the other returned to once again attack, Joriell. Freeing his blade from his sheath, he smacked the wolf with his shield before plunging his blade into his side. The wolf yelped, growling more ferociously before it struck once again. Joriell went to swing, but was stopped short a dagger suddenly pierced the wolf’s jugular. He turned to see Illia approaching him with a cocky smile as the spirit evaporated in a red mist. After picking up her dagger, she looked back to Kodlak and Farkus who seemed pleased.

“It feels like diving into a warm cup of spiced mead.” Farkus said with a smile “I’m losing aches I didn’t even know I had.” 

“The task had finally been complete…” Kodlak seemed to be in disbelief. After so many years of waiting, they were finally at peace. “I suppose it’s time for us to take our leave, perhaps we shall lead the warriors of old in a great battle against the Hunting Grounds of Hircine; free our brothers of this curse.” He turned towards Illia, his eyes fulls of pride. “The day may come when you may join us there, Harbinger.” 

With that, the pair vanished, leaving the three of them alone in the crypt. The air seemed warmer, the tingling sensations from spirits fading. It seemed the tomb of Ysgramor was at peace as well. Yet, the look on the red huntress’s face said she was anything but.

“Did-” Aela began “Did I-did I hear that right? Or did he just name you Harbinger of the Companions?”

“I-I--I can’t be the Harbinger.” she said turning to Joriell “There’s-”

“Hush.” Aela replied “Being Harbinger simply means being a guide to the Companions. But we all rule ourselves. If you need to leave to help the Dragonborn, then you are free to do so. Vilkas and I can keep order while you’re away.”

“Then you support this.”

“You have proven yourself honorable, Illia.” Aela replied “I do not believe that there is someone more worthy of the title.” She looked down at the witches heads, her mind quickly changing to the next thought. “Are you still wanting the cure, Joriell?” 

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice. He was tired of the blood and of the hunger. Being Dragonborn was enough. Aela nodded, picking up another one of the heads and tossing it into the flames. Joriell fell to the ground, hunched a full of pain, another wolf spirit freeing itself from his soul. The creature was fearsome, more filled with rage than the previous two, but Aela ended its life quickly with a shot of her arrow.

“Then it is done.” she said, solemnly. “Let us leave this place. Others who wish for a cure will find it here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, the Companions questline is finally complete. Sorry it took so long for an update. I've been stressing myself out because of finals week at school and then I've been dealing with a lot of financial difficulty where I've had to find a second job. (I found one, but I'm still looking because I know it's utter bullshit)  
>  Not gonna lie, this chapter was actually quite difficult for me to get into. I guess I'm so excited for the upcoming chapters that it has been really hard to want to keep writing about the Companions. I'll probably come back later and edit this one. I should have another chapter up either later today or sometime tomorrow. Your guy's support is honestly what kept me working on this throughout the week because I really was struggle bussing to do so. So thank you guys so much for that!!! Feel free to comment :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SMUT AHEAD* DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE OF AGE!!!!!

“Joriell, its tail!” Illia shouted. Joriell managed to just barely avoid the swing of the frost dragon’s tail. Using every ounce of flexibility he had, he bent backwards, narrowly escaping one of its black spikes. Illia tried to distract it, firing arrows at its snout. It turned to face her and inhaled sharply. Illlia cursed, knowing what was about to happen, and leaped from her perch on a rocky hillside just as the beast exhaled a breath of ice at her. She landed painfully on her side, but was otherwise unharmed. Joriell forced himself to ignore her and instead focused all his efforts on the dragon. Running up its flattened tail, he managed to get on its back. The beast shifted, causing Joriell to lose his balance. At the same time, Illia was running down the hillside to the valley below, where Joriell was fighting.

The dragon continued to shift, flapping it’s wings and gaining height. Joriell slipped off of its back, landing hard on his back. The dragon took flight, abandoning the valley. Illia was at his side in a matter of moments.

“Are you hurt?” she asked while acting as a crutch to help him stand. He nodded, breathing heavily. It had been a close one for sure, but he was still breathing. That had to count for something.

 

Several months had passed since they had left the Companions. In total, they had managed to hunt down four dragons. The bastards had rarely paused in a region. This one they had been tracking for weeks and had finally managed to gain the advantage in the valley. The fact that it had just gotten away was not only disappointing, but embarrassing. Just as he was about to turn and walk away, he looked off to see the dragon swooping back at them at full speed. Along with it was a trail of ice spikes raining down from its breath.

“Illia, get down!” he said, immediately crashing her small body into his as he covered their heads with his shield. Illia didn't fight him. She held onto him tightly, trying to make their bodies as small as possible so that the shield could take most of the damage. The ice and spikes were heavy causing them to fall to their knees, but Joriell made certain that he took all if any of the damage. Illia felt like her chest was going to bruise from how tightly he was holding onto her. What felt like hours passed over in a matter of seconds.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Joriell asked, examining her body to make sure that she was fine.

“It’s coming back around!” she called out. He pulled her to him and used the shield once more to protect them from the raining ice. The beast wouldn’t quit. They were trapped until either it tired or a spike got through. It circled back towards them once more, this time though Illia took a greater risk. From underneath the shield, she attempted to aim an arrow once more at its snout. Her arms, however, were restricted by the smaller circumference of their protection. She pulled it back her string and fired. But she went off target. Instead of hitting its snout, the arrow went flying through the creature’s eye. The dragon cried out in pain, stopping its breath of ice but began to crash. Joriell wasted no time. He grasped Illia by her waist, easily pulling himself and her tiny frame out of the way just before the dragon crashed into the ground. They fell hard on their sides. At this rate, Illia thought her ribs were going to break. Joriell was up quickly and he raced over the injured dov. On its blinded side, he ran up and stabbed the beast through its long throat. It let out another cry, but died quickly with no more fighting.

 

Joriell cleaned his blade with a cloth from his armor and then sheathed it back at his side. Slowly, he could feel his blood begin to vibrate as the scales of the dragon began to burn up. A warm light began to shine around him as his blood burned from the dragon’s soul. He didn’t stumble this time. He was still growing stronger. Then the word finally appeared in his mind.

 

**“** **_Nir”_ **

 

Illia would never get used to seeing Joriell absorb the souls of dragons. The light radiating from him was almost blinding. She stood slowly, the pin from her hair falling to the ground. She cursed as she lost it in grass. Joriell looked over to her, the new shout still taking effect. Her form had completely changed to where she was glowing. Blue and white formed an aura around her pearl colored body. Was this her soul?

“Joriell, what are you staring at?” she asked, grasping her aching side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, wiping his eyes as the sight from the Thu’um began to fade.

“Yeah, I just took some hard falls.” she said with a grin. “We should collect some bone and head back towards Karthwasten. We can sell some there and rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.” he said, pulling out a hatchet.

 

Since they had left Vilkas in charge of the Companions, Joriell and Illia had been on the move. At this point, they had been to every region in Skyrim. Tracking the dragons often took weeks, and it didn’t help that they only had rumors to follow. A couple of times they had come across a group of Stormcloaks. Luckily for Illia, not all of the Stormcloaks were aware of who she was. Last she had heard, most of them were still searching for her around Whiterun hold. If they ever reached a hold where the Stormcloaks had gained momentum, she and Joriell would pose as a newly married couple to avoid suspicion. They had only had to do that once though.

They entered the small town and stopped at the local traders. After selling off some of the dragon bone that they had harvested, they retreated to the local inn where they ate heartily. Avoiding any more contact with people, they retired to their room. Illia began to take off the leather corset that protected her midriff. The freedom from the tight restraint brought a harsh throbbing to her left side. She lifted the white fabric of her long sleeved tunic, careful to only expose her ribs. Extending from the upper part of her waist to the beginning part of her hips was gnarly bruise that was a variety of darkened colors. Joriell looked over from the bed, where he was removing his grieves, and caught only a glimpse of it as she dropped the fabric.

“That doesn’t look good.” he commented

“Well, it’s part of what happens when you fall twenty feet down a hillside.” she retorted with a smile. She closed her eyes and closed her palm. A ball of golden light began to glow in the center of her hand, and she lifted her shirt once more. She placed her glistening hand on the bruise and felt a warm sensation flow over her skin. The pain began to subside and the purple bruise began to change back to her normal flesh. It was a trick that she had managed to pick up from one of the mages in Winterhold. It had become invaluable with their many wounds since traveling. “Do you have any ideas where you want to go next?”

“I’m not sure. It’s becoming a bit easier to start tracking these bastards, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing.” he said “Dragon sighting are being rumored everywhere, but it’s hard to separate the truth from the folly.”

“You’re thinking of something though.” she said noting his perplexed demeanor. Since he had been cured of the beast blood, he had been acting different. He hardly touched her, didn’t dare to look at her for more than a moment’s glance. When they had been it Whiterun, he had been so forward with his affections. Now she didn’t know how he felt about her. Still, she could tell that something had been bothering him for a long while, causing her heart to long for the time when he would be vulnerable and open with his thoughts. She stifled the aching in her chest, refusing to let it show. 

 

He started to strip off the heavier pieces of his armor and changed into a cotton shirt that he kept in his satchel. Flopping onto the bed, he ran his hand through his brown hair as he looked for the right words. For the past three nights, he had been dreaming of Arngeir and returning High Hrothgar. He wasn’t sure why, but something was calling him there.

“I think we should head to Ivarstead in the Rift.” he said “ It’s time to return to the Greybeards and seek their direction.”

“Are you sure?” she said “I thought they had sent you to gain more souls of the dragons and to learn how to fight.”

“I’ve done that. My time with the Companions was fruitful, even with the whole turning into a werewolf bit, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for months now.There has to be something I’m missing.” he explained

“Well, if you think that it’s best, we ought to ride towards Ivarstead at dawn. Hopefully, we’ll only have to camp for one night.”

“Yes, it would be a shame to not stay at an inn.” he said with a playful grin

“I actually prefer camping.” she said crawling into the bed. “You steal all the blankets.”

He couldn’t contain himself from laughing as he blew out the candle. They slept back to back, resting as much as they could before they began their travels in the morning.

 

~~~

Ulfric stood over his war table. His troops were spread out. It would take weeks for them to regroup, but time was wearing thin. His resources were scarce, yet he managed to gain control over the Rift and the Pale. Next in line was Whiterun. It would be the deciding battle, but he needed supplies and more men. If he was going to take the great walled city, he also needed some inside assistance. Some in Cyrodiil had promised him some loyal men that would cross the border, but some of the nobles were beginning to doubt that he would uphold his part of the bargain with the Stormborns. He had sent out a few more small envoys to find the girl. There had even been some rumors that she travelled with the Dragonborn, but not much word had been attained.  But, it wouldn’t be long now. The nobles would have their marriage and he would have his ticket into the capital.

He felt sorry for the girl. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that she didn’t have a choice in this. Many times, he had hoped that they might be able to get to know one another better. Perhaps, she would even begin to see his reasoning that he wasn’t trying to seize power for his own sake, but for Skyrim. He needed the connections in the capital though so that when the time came to fight the Aldmeri Dominion, they would have the manpower to face them. Many of the people in Cyrodiil were unwilling to stand up to the Thalmor. They, understandably, didn’t want another war. Mothers and wives were tired of sending their sons, brothers, and husbands to go die to fight for their way of life. Perhaps Illia was tired of the death as well.

 

Against his better judgement, his mind drifted to to Rickett. He had hoped for his friend to be at his side during this war. But she was a stubborn woman, which was her greatest asset and biggest  disadvantage. She was convinced that the Empire was the best way to challenge the Thalmor. His heart ached at her ignorance. Her loyalty would cost her. He could only hope that Illia would see his side.

“Jarl Ulfric,” a fiery haired, chambermaid began. The young girl had been recently hired as an assistant for the cook. She was normally quiet as a mouse. Ulfric could understand her confusion at his battle planning in the the latest hours of the evening. “ Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Freya.” he said, remembering her name “I’m just looking over plans for the war effort.”

“I’ve got a brother who’s fightin’ on you over in the Pale. He said that he’ll be scouting over in Whiterun soon.” she said. Her voice carried a thick Nordic accent.

“Your brother sounds like a true Nord.” Ulfric said “You should get your rest.”

“As should you, m’lord.” she said with a curtsy and walked away. Ulfric smiled and sighed. He was losing too much sleep over this. He put away the plans and then returned to his chamber, knowing that it would there for him in the morning.

 

~~~

After a light breakfast and suiting up in their armor, Joriell and Illia saddled their horses and began to ride in the direction of Riften. Illia’s horse, a black steed with matching eyes, tended to be faster just because of her smaller size.

“I’ll race you.” she winked at Joriell before kicking the steed’s sides. Joriell relished at the challenge. With a swift kick, he was riding close at her tail. They continued like this for miles, saving time until the horses tired.

 

They arrived by the afternoon somewhere near Falkreath, the heavy foliage and evergreens giving away their locations. The horses, now tired, began to slow. Joriell motioned to a lake nearby and pulled his horse in the direction. Illia didn’t hesitate to follow. Stiffly getting off of the horses, the pair allowed them to drink from the lake. The horses, staying nearby, grazed on some grass while the two stretched out.

“It’s much warmer down here.” Illia said as she stood on her toes and stretched her arms in the air. “It reminds me of Cyrodiil in the winter time.”

“You’re kidding. Our spring is your winter?” he asked, clearly jealous of the girl’s sheltered winter experiences.

“Yes.” she said with a grin “We swim all year round in the Imperial city.”  

“Back home, we never swam. There was always too much work to be done.” he said stretching out across the grass “Well, we still learned how to swim so that way we could fish when the crops didn’t fair too well.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

“Yes, an older brother.” he said with a smile “But we haven’t spoken in some time. He went off to become a bard. Ended up getting arrested in the Imperial City. We heard he got out, but we haven’t heard from him since.”

“Were you close?” she inquired

“Did anyone ever tell you ask a lot of questions?”

“An annoyed noblemen or two might have mentioned something.” she grinned

“I don’t blame them. It’s not your most charming trait.” he said with a wicked grin

“Oh, it’s not?” she said as she sipped water from her water sac. She stood up, blocking the sun that Joriell was soaking in, and dumped the sack on his face with a laugh. Shocked, Joriell jumped up and started to chase her. “Well that has to be a worse trait than asking questions!”

She could easily outrun him if she really wanted to, but the riding had made her legs stiff. He caught up to her quickly and tossed her over his shoulder. She smacked his back playfully while laughing, which he easily ignored, then tossed her into the lake with a splash. The water was freezing, not at all like the warm waters surrounding the Imperial city. Yet, Illia was able to adjust. Joriell was just about to leave her there when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tripped him into the water with her.

“Woman!” he cried out in an outburst of laughter. Turning around in the water, he was just about to dunk her back into the lake when she blinded him with a splash. Before they knew it, their splashing game had lasted for ten minutes, leaving them both drenched.

 

“Well, we can’t do more travelling with our armor soaked like this.” Joriell said as they exited the water. “Let’s just make camp here for the night. We’re a day behind though.”

“It’s okay. You needed a bath anyways.” she said squeezing the lake water from out of her black hair.

“Let’s just get camp set up.” he said with a roll of his eyes.

The pair had managed to scrape enough septims to buy a  tent that could fit two bed rolls. After setting it up, they laced up a rope with two stakes that they had driven into the ground, and hung up their armor so the fire could dry it. Joriell looked so strange outside of his steel armor. His brown cotton slacks and wool shirt made him look smaller. Perhaps all the muscle that she assumed he had was just from the steel plates.

Illia had attempted to brush out her hair with her fingers, but the tangles were unmanageable. To make matters worse, her wools shirt and trousers got soaked in the splashing, leaving her with only a tattered, red dress to wear. It was the same dress she had worn when she had made her first kill, so the hem was covered in an inch wide mud stain. Even parts of it was still burnt. Joriell kept looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“Will you stop gawking at me?” she finally said.

“In the six months that I’ve known you, I have never seen you in a dress.” he said “It’s weird.”

“Thank you. It’s strange when I look like a woman.” she said with a sarcastic laugh “I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, hero. I’ll be safe on my own.” she said lacing up her boots, which were now mostly dry and grasping her belt with her daggers.

“Suit yourself.” he said, resting his eyes.

 

He watched the girl slip away into the nearby tree line. She truly perplexed him at times. Was it really that difficult to sit down? Could she even run in a dress if she needed to? The woman was beyond insufferable at times. Her sarcastic comments never seemed to cease. Yet, they never ceased to amuse him either. It had been a long time since anyone could make him laugh, or even challenge what he was thinking. Somehow she had managed to not only make him think about the past, but also the future. 

He closed his eyes, allowing the cool sunset air to wrap around him as he tried to quiet his stirring thoughts. They had managed to keep moving, but with the way things were going with the dragons, it wouldn’t be long before they’d have to part ways. And then what? She’d be left to keep running, or eventually marry a jarl who was leading a rebellion against the Empire. Illia deserved better than that. But he wasn’t sure if he could be her shield for much longer, and she knew it too. It was why she was being more free-spirited. On an unconscious level, she knew that her time was beginning to run short. And something in that thought began to make his heart ache.

He pushed the feeling away once more. There was no point in it. He didn’t know what his fate would be as the Dragonborn. But  _ dez  _ was calling him somewhere, and he wasn’t sure if it was a place that she could follow.

  
  


Illia returned just as night fell over the camp. Her hem ,which was already covered in dirt, was now covered in mud. Her black curls slightly frizzed from the water. She looked practically medieval. Joriell couldn’t help but grin at her approach.

“What?” she asked with a big smile.

“You could pass as a Forsworn. All you’d have to do is exchange the dress for bones.” he remarked evilly.

“Thank you. That’s very encouraging.” she said

“Illia, what do you plan on doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“After all of this. Eventually, we’ll run out of dragons to kill.”

“Well, I suppose I could always return to the Companions.” she said with a small smile “But I want to see the world. That’s always been my dream. I want to explore Valenwood, Elsweyr, Morrowind, even Hammerfell. I hardly got to explore  Cyrodiil when I lived there. I would love to go to some of their balls.”

“Of course you have some girlish fantasy of going to a ball.” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“I love to dance. There’s nothing wrong with that.” she said, ignoring his gestures. She walked over to their armor and tested to see if it was still wet. The fabric was still damp and would probably be dry by morning. “You probably don’t enjoy it because you look like a child when you get dressed up.”

“Yes, you discern the truth.” he said with a laugh

“Well, I’m going to rest. Don’t stay up too late, we should leave at dawn.”

  
  
  


At dawn, Joriell awoke to the sight of Illia lacing up her leather corset. How the girl still managed to breathe was beyond him. She noticed him tossing about in his bedroll and tossed him a red apple.

“Eat up. We should get moving.” she said as she finished tying it. She adjusted her hair so that it was half up and half down, but still remained out of her face. He couldn’t help but notice how methodical she was in the adjustment of her bracers and boots.

Illia forced herself to ignore that he was staring although it sent shivers down her spine. Instead, she left to tend with the horses. Joriell barely took a bite out of the apple before he was putting his armor on. After feeding the other half of the fruit to his horse, he fixed the saddle.

“We’re not going to stop this time.” he said “We should at least be at Ivarstead by sun down. We’ll rest there before ascending the seven thousand steps.” Illia nodded as she stepped onto her steed.

 

They rode for hours, barely speaking a word. They only slowed for the horses when they needed rest. Eventually, the spring weather in Falkreath vanished in exchange for the colder northern region. Crossing over the border, they managed to make it towards the autumn forests of the Rift dusk. However, they didn’t have enough time to make it Ivarstead by night fall. Getting off of the road, they ventured towards the wilds, finding a small stream for the horses to drink from. They quickly set up camp once more, lighting a small fire.

“Seems as though we’ll make it to Ivarstead by midday.” Illia noted as she nibbled on some scorched rabbit haunch.

“Yes. We’ll have to leave our horses in the care of the stables there.” Joriell replied “It’s too dangerous for them to ascend with us.”

“I figured.” she said “So will I actually get to meet the Greybeards?”

“I don’t see why not.” he said as he sipped some bottled Nord mead. “I mean the only one who talks is Master Arngeir. The others can’t because of how powerful their voices are.”

“Will you eventually become that powerful?”

“No. The Greybeards had to learn how to speak the language which is why it’s such a strain on their voices and bodies. I don’t have to worry about that.”  he said. They heard a branch snap behind them causing them both to tense. From the shadows emerged three armed men in steel armor. They were fierce in their size and looked ready for a brawl.

 

“Why hello friends.” one said, his voice throaty. “How are you on this fine evening?”

“We’re doing well.” Joriell said, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. His position was tense, but he was sure the men were well aware of that.

“Might we join you? We’ve been travelling for a while and you two are the first people we’ve stumbled upon in quite some time.” the Nord asked

“Please.” Joriell said. He was trying as best as he could to avoid a conflict. Illia gave him a look of concern, but his green eyes told her to stay quiet.

The Nord thanked him and invited his friends to take seats around the fire. Two of them sat on either side of Illia. One of them was a Red Guard who was more robust than his Nord friend. The other was a Khajiit. She had mistaken his armor either for steel. It was Orcish and severely damaged. From the looks of it, it seemed he might have stolen it in a brawl. The leader sat across from Joriell. He grabbed one of the rabbit haunches from off of the fire.

“May I?” he asked

“Go right ahead.” Joriell said with no tone. His voice was eerily steady. It sent even Illia on edge. He knew just as easily as she did that they were bandits, planning to rob them. But Joriell continued to allow them to remain. “So where are you travelling to?”

“See that’s a funny story. We’re just adventurers like yourselves. We go wherever the wind takes us.” the Nord said as he swallowed down the rabbit haunch. He took a bottle of mead that was near the fire and opened it with his teeth. He began to greedily swallow it down. Joriell, however, maintained his composure. “How about you and your wife?”

“My wife and I are on our way to Riften.”

 

The man didn’t seem to question his lie about where they were heading. Instead, he gave an evil grin that sent chills through Joriell’s spine. He forced himself to swallow his anger. The man’s eyes trailed towards his men. He took another mouthful of rabbit haunch.

“Intriguing.” he said “You know, we’ve heard some rumors during our travels regarding a man with a female companion. Some say that this man is the Dragonborn.”

“Really?” he said “Sounds like some folk lore.”

“Folk lore or not, we’ve heard that the Stormcloaks are willing to pay a hefty price for him and the girl he is travelling with.” the man said. His brown eyes sized Joriell up, contemplating the best way to take him down. Joriell’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. He wasn’t about to lose to some washed up bounty hunters.

“You know, now that you mentioned it, I did notice a pair travelling towards Windhelm. Perhaps you should head over in that direction.” Joriell said, trying to get his message across.

“See, I don’t think I believe you.” he said “In fact, I think you and your little mouse here are the people that we’ve been looking for. Surprising too because you don’t look like much.” 

 

His eyes traveled towards Illia, examining face and form as he bit his bottom lips. It was enough to make her insides turn. Her mind flashed to memories of Molag Bal, of the feel of his length so close to it’s goal, the lack of control, of every ounce of her will beginning to be stripped away.

Your wife, was that what you said she was? She is so pretty. I doubt even I could fight the temptation. It’s a good thing that the jarl didn’t happen to mention what condition he wanted her in.”

 

Illia cringed at the man’s words. The Red Guard laughed and placed his hand on her thigh. Her temper flared. Quicker than what either of the men on her side expected, she pulled her dagger and stabbed the Red Guard in the throat. He gasped in surprise as he began to down in his own blood. Before the other men could react, Joriell shouted a Thu’um.

“ **_Fus Roh Dah!_ ** ” It knocked the wind out of Illia by mistake, but he had accomplished his goal. Unsheathing his blade, he swung at the knocked over Nord while Illia tried to recover from his blow. She had tasted his Thu’um once before, but never with the full wrath. No wonder he always seemed exhausted afterwards. Putting that much of yourself into something must have been beyond draining. She stiffly pulled herself off of the ground and watched as Joriell plunged his sword into the Nord without any hesitation. The Khajiit next to her stood up and went to attack her, but she moved, cursing herself for being distracted.  Swinging her legs around, she managed to knock him off of the ground. She leaped on him, trying to drive a dagger through his chest. Instead, he caught her arm and slashed her with his claws. The little sharp talons caught the base of her neck, sending her off balance. He knocked her off of him, which sent her flying across the ground. But before he could charge at her, she regained her footing and threw a dagger. The blade struck him in his forehead, causing him to collapse.

Walking over to the body, she pulled the embedded blade from the corpse and wiped it clean. Sheathing it once more, she placed her hand to the gaping wound at the base of her neck and began to heal it. Meanwhile, Joriell searched the Nord’s body. In a small brown satchel that was hidden around his waist, he found five septims and a few lockpicks. Along with it was a missive signed by some random bandit.

  
  
  
  


“Damn it.” Joriell cursed “With this, it’s going to be near impossible to travel the roads. Who knows how many of these have been scattered around Skyrim.”

A pang of guilt shot through Illia’s veins. She terrified that this would happen; that her presence would cause Joriell problems. The man had enough problems with just being the Dragonborn, let alone having a wanted person tagging along with him. Why was she always bringing the man more trouble?

“Okay, we’re just going to have to be a lot more careful. We’re just going to have to cover our tracks better.” Joriell said as he read the look on her face. Illia nodded, trying to oblige him. Joriell pulled a cloth from his satchel and soaked it in some water from his canteen. He walked over to Illia and handed the cloth to her. “For the blood.” he explained.

She nodded her thanks and began to scrub her skin raw. The gray cloth was soaked red within minutes. Wringing it out as best she could, she handed it back to him. He chuckled, noticing that she had completely missed a spot behind her ear. Motioning for her to come towards him, he rested one hand on the side of her cheek while he cleaned the blood off of her face. Illia froze at his touch as it sent electricity through her skin. His forest eyes lingered over her frost irises for only moment before he pulled away.

“I better be careful coming so close to you without permission.” he said with an awkward laugh as he tossed the rag into the fire. “I don’t want a dagger like the other guy.”

 

Illia was at a loss for words. Her skin was screaming at his touch, basically begging for more. But she pushed the feeling aside and began to pack up the camp. She only mumbled “We should get moving. It’s not safe to camp outside a city.” Joriell nodded and began to saddle both the horses. After placing their bedrolls and tent on the saddles, they put out the fire. Then at full speed, they began to make their way towards Ivarstead.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~

  
  


They made time quicker than they expected. At the breaking of morning, Ivarstead could be seen in a short distance away. Yet, Illia and Joriell were exhausted. Their bodies were yearning for sleep. The heaviness in their limbs was causing them more trouble than what they had expected. Yet, they knew they could not rest in Ivarstead. Although it had more people, the village was more susceptible to bandits and other thugs. It would be easy for any of the men hunting them to find them there. Plus, the village was mostly made up of farmers and the soldiers were loyal to Ulfric. They would receive no aid.

 

It was the first time Illia had ever gone to Ivarstead, and she couldn’t help but find it all charming. The white trees remained in a permanent state of autumn all year around. Red, yellow, and orange; all of it reminding her of warmth and spice. Even the river seemed free of the never-ending frost that remained in Skyrim all year round. It was a small place away from the world, a haven in these hard times.  

 

Joriell led the horses towards a small farm where a man was growing an assortment of gourds, cabbage and potatoes. He and what looked like his daughter were tending to the plants when the pair approached.

“Joriell, is that you?” the man asked, lighting up. He was an older man in the late forties. His long hair was whiter than the snow in Winterhold, but the dirt from working made it dingy and gray. “It’s been some time, my boy.”

“It has Jofthor.” Joriell said as he greeted the man. “How is the family?”

“Well Fastred and Klimmek finally married a few weeks ago, thanks to you.” the elder began “It’s funny. When you first approached me, I thought that you were going to try to sweep the girl off of her feet and that I would have to chase you away with a plow.”    

“I don’t believe any woman could handle my travels.” Joriell responded with a grin before Illia cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose one can. Jofthor, this is my companion, Illia. I have to ascend to the mountain once more, and I was hoping that you’d be able to watch over our horses until we return.”

“For you, Joriell, anything. You’ve done me a great service; for me and my daughter.” he said, taking the reigns of the horses. “Hell, even Klimmek is indebted to you. Your horses will be well cared for.”

 

With that, Joriell and Illia made their way towards the seven thousand steps. They were old, broken, barely even noticeable in the mountain side. The sight of them made Illia’s sore muscles begin to ache even more. How did Joriell ever do this?

“Just a warning,” Joriell began “Last time I did this, I ended up staying there for three months. I can’t tell you how long this is going to take.”

“A three month long vacation with mysterious monks. Beats fighting dragons.” she said with a grin “Let’s go.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


The White-Gold tower hardly lived up to its reputation. Perhaps it was a “palace” under human standards. Elenwen was growing tired of these Imperial dogs and their tedious errands. Why did she really need to be at this execution? At least the Nords in Skyrim kept things interesting. She couldn’t wait to return there at the Thalmor Embassy. Actually, she couldn’t wait until she could return home to the Summerset Isle.

 

She missed the warm, crystal blue reefs of the Abecean Sea. Alinor, her home, called for her. It was described as the city of glass for a reason. The buildings were made almost entirely of white crystal and gold. The glassy exterior would catch the different colors of the light causing the city to change color throughout the day. The buildings in Skyrim and Cyrodiil lacked the sophistication. Still, she had to play face for these plebeians until they finally managed to gather up the resources to finally force them into submission.

Some of the nobles here had even believed that it was their place to try to win her affections. Elenwen knew that she was beautiful with golden skin and honey locks that ran past her back. Her lips were the color of roses, offsetting her vividly green eyes. She had her pick of suitors back in the Isles. How dare those pig headed noblemen believe that they were worthy of her favor.

 

She sipped on her wine, which was bland and dry, as she waited for the executioner to bring in the accused. She couldn’t believe it had taken these imbeciles months to realize that they had traitors in their midst. And then, it had taken them even longer to finally do something about it. Still, if their sources were correct, this family’s interference could cost them the war in Skyrim. If the region fell into the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak then the Aldmeri Dominion could have greater issues on their hands.

Finally, after several minutes of waiting, two Nords were brought into the throne room. At the same time, the Emperor Titus Mede II entered. He sat upon his throne, his bald head shining in the light. These humans aged so horribly. The Nord traitors seemed to be in almost better health than their emperor. The man was lean with salt and pepper hair. His beard had become slightly unkempt from his captivity. His wife was older yet she carried herself with grace. Had she been younger, her long black hair and ocean colored eyes would have been alluring. They were both pale and dressed in dirty rags, yet both maintained their high born nature.

“Japheth Stormborn, I never thought I would see this day.” the emperor said, his voice was grave. It was as if he was regretting what he knew was to come. Elenwen scoffed. “What say you on your behalf?”

“Tis true that I made an alliance against your grace with Ulfric Stormcloak. I have no shame or regret. The Empire has grown weak under your rule. It is even more apparent with that  _ thing _ being here today.” he said, his blue eyes burning into Elenwen. His venomous gaze only made Elenwen yawn. This Nord seemed to believe that his opinion of her mattered. She wanted to laugh at his ignorance. He was the one who was going to be dying today. “But my wife, Lyanna, had nothing to do with it.”

“Your wife was witnessed by one of your guards placing an Amulet of Mara around the throat of your eldest daughter, Illia Stormborn, as she was shipped off to Skyrim to marry the traitor of the Empire. Your lies will not be tolerated here.” the Emperor boomed, standing from the rage. He had once considered Japheth to be a friend and ally. This betrayal sank further than skin deep. “As for the matter of your daughter, we have sent scouts to hunt her already.”

 

“Illia will never fall into harm's way under you.” Lyanna Stormborn finally called out. 

 

“Is that what you’ve been led to believe? It seems disloyalty is a family trait.” the Emperor continued “ Your daughter abandoned Ulfric Stormcloak and has been running wild in the regions of Skyrim with different men. To think that Illia could become such a common whore.” 

The sickly Emperor began to cough and spit in his rage. A servant quickly approached offering him a goblet of wine before he continued in his speech. The man drank deeply before turning back to the Stormborns.

“It seems she’s also been going around pretending to be some great warrior. A two-bit mercenary is all I can say to that.”

 

The parents of the Stormborn girl appeared confused. Illia was not a murderer, nor a fighter. It wasn’t possible that their daughter was doing any of this. Illia had always been soft and gentle, too carried away in her books to even speak to people. And she would never have betrayed her family.

 

Elenwen had heard rumors of this girl. She had become quite a nuisance since her arrival in Skyrim. She wouldn’t have been such a problem if her family hadn’t been turning more nobles against the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. More soldiers from Cyrodiil were flooding to Ulfric’s side everyday. If she was dead, the nobles would no longer have reason fly to Ulfric’s cause. Even more so, if she were to have any information on the other noble families that were beginning to rebel, they could quell the roots of second civil war before it began in the Empire. Furthermore, if Ulfric were to get his greedy paws on her, she could give him an heir, thus giving him an even stronger claim to the throne. The Dominion needed the Empire to be weak. A widowed queen with no heir was exactly what her people needed to finally rid themselves of the Nords and Imperials forever.

“This rebellion is going to end, Japheth!” the Emperor said “The mutiny that  you attempted to begin is going to to die with you and your wife! But, I still have mercy. I will spare your eldest if you give of the names of the noble families that have been aiding the Stormcloaks.”

The couple looked at each other, their eyes betraying their fear. Lyanna wanted to make the deal, but she knew better with than to trust the Emperor’s word. Illia had managed to avoid the Empire and the Stormcloaks for this long. The girl was strong, stronger than what they even thought possible. She could survive. Japheth could read his wife’s eyes.

“My secrets die with me, Tiber.” he said, his voice low and solemn

“So be it.” Tiber replied with sorrow in his voice. He had hoped his friend would at least try to fight for their lives. He was more stubborn than he had given him credit for. “I want them publically flogged, gutted, and dragged through the Imperial City. We’re going to send these nobles a message.”

 

Elenwen raised an eyebrow, surprised and amused at the Emperor’s brutality. It was a pleasant surprise. He then turned to her, his graying eyes commanding her attention.

“Elenwen, can we trust that your men will apprehend this girl?” he asked

“Of course, my Lord.” she said, her voice like a purr. “My men will not fail me.”

“Very well.” Tiber said, his voice unchanging. “I’ll leave it to you then.”

  
  
  


~~~

  
  


Illia wish she had layered up before ascending the Throat of the World. The mountain top was freezing. The wind and snow was unrelenting. And people claimed that Windhelm was the snowiest region in Skyrim. She begged to differ. But as they approached High Hrothgar, she was struck to the point that she could ignore the cold.

The monastery was gargantuan. The black, gray bricks were almost the size of her. Beyond that,  intricate carvings of dragons lined the steps the front wall of the building. To believe that the Greybeards had been living there since their existence was awe inspiring.

“Are you ready to go inside?” Joriell asked, amused by the look on her face. She could only nod. He smiled, guiding her to the entrance.

 

Inside, the monastery was still as dark as when he first left it. The Greybeards weren’t for burning candles unnecessarily. Even their fireplaces were barely scorched. They said that the cold kept them focused on the words of power. Personally, Joriell found that it made concentration difficult during meditation.

“Dragonborn,” a voice from the shadows echoed through the great entrance. “It seems that you have returned to us and with a companion no less. What brings you our way?” Arngeir appeared. It seemed as though his beard had grown longer since the last time he was here. His age was beginning to show more harshly as well.

“I felt called here, master. For what reason, I do not know.” Joriell replied formally.

“Very well, Dragonborn.” Arngeir answered“It seems as though  _ dez _ has brought you here for a reason. Have you completed your training with man?”

“Yes.” Joriell replied “And I have continued in my pursuit of the dragons. But master, more and more are returning. There must be some reason behind it.”

“This is true.” he replied “It seems as though the time for you to finish your training here with us has finally come. You are to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from the ruins of Ustengrav. It is located North of Morthal.”

“Thank you, my master.” he replied, frustrated at the discovery that he had travelled all that way just for orders to travel elsewhere.

“But before you set off, how long has it been since you have mediated on the Words of Power?” Arngeir asked astutely. Joriell could only make an awkward noise. “You and your friend look weary. Rest here and gain your strength.”

  
  


~~~

 

_ Several Weeks Later... _

  
  


Ulfric had been dreaming when he was awoken from his sleep. His steward had informed him that there was a courier with urgent news from Cyrodiil. Ulfric dressed quickly, trying to wake himself from his daze. He hadn’t slept much over the past several months. This information better be important.

He entered the war room to see a small courier. She was a Bosmer with black eyes and hair to match. She was probably the smallest person he had ever seen with a small dagger as her only weapon. To the average man, she would have been considered handsome. But in Windhelm, it was shocking that she was even allowed within the city walls.

“Jarl Ulfric, I come from the Imperial City with urgent news from your allies.” she said, her eyes almost welling with tears. “I worked as a kitchen maid for Japheth Stormborn and his esteemed wife, Lyanna. Six nights ago, they were dragged from their beds in the middle of the night by Imperial Legionnaires. They were arrested on charges of treason and taken to the White-Gold Tower to await judgment.”

Ulfric stiffened at the news. The Stormborns had been irreplaceable with their help in gathering noble families to join his cause over in the heartland. The news of their arrest would spread quickly, making him look weak to his supporters. The Empire would rally around it for sure.

“But that’s not all, m’lord.” the elf continued “Several weeks ago, the Stormborns were condemned to-to death. My master and his wife were publicly flogged and gutted in the streets of the Imperial city. What’s more, the Emperor ordered for their bodies to be dragged through the streets by horseback as a message to you and your supporters.”

“By Ysmir's-” his steward said. His heart ached at the news the Stormborn’s deaths. They were honorable people and true Nords at heart. They did not deserve such humiliation. Ulfric carried the same look on his face. More had died for his cause. But the message that it sent was much more dangerous than that. It made him appear to be powerless. The entire proposal with the Stormborns was making him look weak. He couldn’t capture a single girl, he couldn’t fulfill his word, and the Empire had just spat in his face.

“But m’lord, there is still more.” the elf continued, tearing up at the thought of her masters’ fates. “Elenwen, the first Emissary and Ambassador of the Thalmor, was at the execution. Rumors have spread that the Emperor has placed her in charge of finding the Stormborn’s eldest daughter.”

Ulfric was finished. He could not hear any more of this. The news was grave, a major blow to his public image and potentially the moral of his troops. He needed to sway this in his favor. He would make it was flag for the Nords of Skyrim to rally around. And perhaps, he could even use it to bring the Stormborn girl to him or at least bring her out of hiding.

“Let news of this spread. But inform our men and our enemies that this will not stand. I will bring the emperor to justice. Let every capital know that the Stormcloaks and Imperials are looking for Illia Stormborn.” Ulfric said “ I want everyone of our men to be looking for the girl. Her time of running is over. If the Aldmeri Dominion gets her, she’s as good as dead and our connections to the capital will be lost. If it is a challenge that the Emperor wants, it is a challenge he shall get.”

  
  


~~~

 

It was their third week with the Greybeards. Joriell looked so strange in their robes. They had insisted that Illia change into them as well. The one perk of being with the Greybeards was that they owned a hair brush. After what felt like hours, Illia had managed to brush her hair into raven waves. Her hair had grown past the center of her back since her time in Skyrim. She looked different from the the girl that had arrived those many months ago in Skyrim. Her body was riddled with scars. The base of her throat now carried three thin ones from the Khajiit that had attacked her. Her cheek bones had become more pronounced from malnourishment and fighting, making her features even more striking. She couldn’t even recognize herself.

The robes that the Greybeards had given her clung loosely to her body. Although she was tall, her overall frame had grown smaller from fat turning into lean muscle. She wondered if her mother would even recognize her if they were to cross paths. Joriell hadn’t changed too much since their adventure had begun. He had gained more muscle, but was overall still lean. He battled often with his beard, which he somehow managed to keep trimmed to patchy scruff. The robes made him look as if he was some sort of spiritual man which was odd because he rarely spoke of the gods. Illia wasn’t even sure if he believed in them.

“I would appreciate it if you stopped staring at me.” he said as he meditated. The fire was blazing behind him as he sat cross legged on the furs that warmed the stones. “It makes it fairly distracting.”

“I like distracting you. It’s fun when you’re riled up.” she shot back “Perhaps, I’ll start to do it more often.”

“Careful there, Illia. If I didn’t know better, I’d begin to believe that you’re trying to flatter me.”

Against her will, Illia blushed, but pushed the feeling down. She had never been more grateful that Joriell had his eyes closed. Her hands traced over lavender that the Greybeards had grown in pots as an offering the Kynareth. She hadn’t known much about the goddess when she had arrived at High Hrothgar, but Master Arngeir had been quick to change that.

 

_ “Kynareth is the goddess of the heavens, winds and earth. It is because of her that the other gods decided to create the mortal plain.” Arngeir explained “It is through her and Akatosh that man has been blessed with the understanding of the Way of the Voice.” _

_ “What is the Way of the Voice or the Words of Power?” she asked, feeling clueless to all of this. _

“ _ The voice of the dov, the dragons, was bestowed unto man by Kynareth. And as such, it should be used for the worship and glory of the gods. But men have corrupted it and used it for their own personal gain. Even one of our own fell victim to the temptation that comes from the language of dragons. You seem to have heard of him, Illia Stormborn.” _

_ “I never-” _

_ “Fear not child. We do not concern ourselves with the minimal plights of man.” Arngeir said kindly “A woman’s heart should be hers to give to whom she chooses. But yes, Ulfric Stormcloak has been trained in the Way of the Voice.” _

_ “Why did he turn away?” _

_ “For ten years, he studied under us. He seemed to be ascending to a place where he would replace my role here with the Greybeards. But he was pulled away in the Great War. His bloodlust consumed him, and steered him away from Kynareth.” Arngeir explained solemnly. The old man’s eyes betrayed his sorrow. It was evident that he missed his apprentice, and had struggled with allowing him to go. “But, I can imagine that this war causes his heart to struggle. Ulfric was never one for violence. Yet, betrayal runs deep and so does a man’s lust for power. This is what comes from steering away from the Way of the Voice.” _

_ “But what does that mean for Joriell? Isn’t it his destiny to destroy the dragons?” _

_ “The Dragonborn is beyond the Way of the Voice. His destiny is outside of Kynareth. Akatosh is the deity responsible for blessing Joriell with the blood of the dragon. His destiny is thus laid out by Akatosh.” _

_ “And Joriell has no choice in any of this. Is his life really not his own?” _

_ “As you know, dear girl, no one’s life is not dictated by the gods.” _

 

His words had angered her. It seemed as though everyone had their own agenda for Joriell; the gods included. Even the Greybeards only wanted to use him to fulfill the role that the gods had placed for him. It seemed to be a way only to glorify their own beliefs. So many people begged him for help and he never received the same in return. He’d save a village from destruction, but if he needed aid; no help could be found. Hell, even the man caring for their horses only did so because Joriell hitched his daughter with someone.

 

“You’re eerily quiet.” he said “What’s spinning about in that pretty head of yours again?” She tried to fight it, but the words escaped so easily from her lips.

“Joriell, is this what you want out of your life? To meditate, to hunt dragons, to eventually save the world from whatever danger we’re facing?”

He opened his eyes slowly and examined her demeanor. She seemed on the verge of tears, trying to hide it from him as she often did. It made the urge to hold her almost too difficult to bare.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t think it’s ever occurred to anyone to ask you what you wanted in all of this. It seems like everyone has just been barking orders and telling you their plans for you.” she said, a blank expression her face “So what do you want?”

“I want to know that the people I care about are safe.” he answered carefully as he stood. There was no point in trying to meditate anymore. “This world needs to be protected and if the gods have willed me to be the one to do it, who am I to deny them?”

“But at the cost of your own life and your own happiness?” she asked. She seemed almost angry at his statement. Illia tried not to show it. “Are you really that willing to disregard your own life? How can you be so fatalistic?”

“It’s not my own life that I fight for. It’s for others.” he said, approaching her more closely. “I have as much to lose as everyone else, and I’m unwilling to let go of what I want without a fight.”

“And what do you want?” she asked, her heart beating against her chest with how close he was. Her head was screaming for her to run, that she was being stupid. But her body wouldn’t let her. Her heart wouldn’t let her move away from him.

“I’d have thought you would have figured that out by now.” he said, his stare unwavering.

 

Illia moved her lips to speak, but it was too late. His hands cupped her face and her words were replaced with a small gasp. His lips barely brushed over hers at first, but slowly the kiss deepened. With no more hesitation, she allowed herself to kiss him back. It was as if every sense was heightened. His scent was intoxicating. It was like ash and cedar; the warmth of it unraveled her. She ran her willowy fingers through his thick, chocolate hair like she had been yearning to for weeks now. Joriell didn’t hold back in exploring her either. His hands went to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. She tasted like honey and lavender. He wasn’t sure if her could ever get enough of her. But painfully, he pulled away and instead he tenderly kissed her forehead.

“You give me a reason to keep fighting, Illia.” he whispered softly “Not because of what is, but because of what could be.”

Her heart leaped at his words.  _ “At what could be?” _ she thought. She wasn’t sure what could be between them, but she knew that she needed to find out. Perhaps they didn’t have a future. They could both easily die the next day, or she could be taken by Ulfric. Hell, they could grow tired of each other and walk away. But she had already taken so many chances. What was the point of it all if she didn’t give herself the freedom to have the future she wanted?

“I didn’t--I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me...” she replied. Joriell’s eyes betrayed his hurt at that thought. He loved her more than he could possibly explain, had been so caught up in the fear of losing her that it hurt to touch her. He couldn’t keep doing this to her.

“Illia, when the time comes and the dragons are gone, I would wish to never be parted from you again.” Joriell said softly “I wish for no one but you at my side.” 

His lips met hers once more, his hand running through her raven locks as the other ran past her hips. A sweet euphoria spread across her skin, her mind finally grasping that it was real. Her hands shook as she slightly pulled away, her breath hot on his skin. 

“I would never wish for another.” she replied “And I would make that promise to you in word, and soul, and body.” Her hands went to the sheer ties of her robes, pulling it undone with shaking hands. His forest colored eyes took in the sight of her flesh, completely bare before him in offering. He had never received such a treasure. 

 

His lips seized hers once more, with a deep softness that caused goosebumps to spread across her exposed body. Strong arms pulled her closer to him in a tight embrace where she could feel the heat of him against her. Her lips brushed against him with care, her tongue tasting the honey of his mouth as he pulled her to where the furs and the fire had been. With a gentle motion, he placed her on the furs so that the stone would not chill her and returned to his ministrations. Teeth and tongue moved across the tender flesh of her neck, causing her to gasp and a wetness to pool at her center. With the small space that was between them, she unlaced his robe, revealing the smooth muscle that lay beneath. Her trembling hands ran across his chest, clawing his back as he bit the arch of her neck. Gasping his name, she pulled him closer so that she could feel his skin against hers, rough but welcoming. He shifted on top of her, kisses now trailing between her breast and stomach as he moved farther down until he was kissing her inner thigh. Heart pounding in her chest, Illia whimpered as she felt him approach her center and leave a kiss along her slick folds. His eyes looked up to her for permission, the gentleman that he always was, before his tongue began to probe through the sweet-tasting folds of her flesh. 

She moaned softly as she felt his tongue slide across her pearl, massaging the bundle of nerves with simple strokes that left her begging for more. A throaty growl vibrated through his throat, sending another wave of pleasure throughout her body. Hands clawing the furs beneath her, Illia stifled a call as she continued to feel him go to work, sucking, licking, and biting at her most sensitive flesh.

“Oh gods…” Her back arched, but his hands moved to keep her securely in place as he continued to lap in essence, thirsting for it as if it were water. His thumb moved to massage her clit. A heat began to build between her thighs, spreading throughout her body. She sucked in a breath, calling out his name her body vibrated in an orgasm. He grinned, lapping up more of her sweet juices before he moved to kiss her once more.

She was surprised at the sweetness that hung on his lips as his tongue explored her mouth once more. His hand moved to her breast, cupping and feeling the soft mounds as her legs wrapped around him. She could feel his hard length against her thigh, ready to sheath itself within her body. She wanted nothing more than to fulfill that wish. Moving her hips, she pressed her center against him, causing him to hiss as he felt her heat against him. Rubbing her wet heat against his shaft, he moaned then continued to bite and suck on her neck as he played with her breasts.

“Joriell...please…” She needed to feel him, to feel his need and his want. She couldn’t bare to be separated anymore. His forest eyes locked with hers, and for the first time, she could see that he was as nervous as she was. He nodded, kissing her lips once more as he made a space for himself between her thighs. Slowly, she felt the tip of his manhood enter her. 

She cried out in surprise at the feel of him, smooth and hard. Pleasure washed over her for a moment, but the more that he entered the more the pleasure turned to pain. Her felt her barrier break, causing tears to well in her eyes. He paused at the tightness of her walls, giving her time to adjust. In the meantime, he continued to kiss away her tears until a wave of wetness relaxed her clenched muscles. Then, he slowly began to rock his hips. The pleasure was sharp, new, and intense; something she didn’t think was possible. She moaned in his ear as his pace began to quicken, his breath hot against her neck. Skin meeting against skin, she called out as another wave of ecstasy washed over her ,leaving her almost breathless. 

“Joriell…” His name was like a prayer to the gods. And he called hers back in response, only making her wetter. Soon, any subtle movement he made left her out of breath and calling out, unable to handle the euphoria until eventually she came. Sweet release spread across her limbs as her walls clenched and milked him for all he was worth as he spilled his seed inside her with a thunderous groan. Her legs coiled around him, unwilling to let him go as he rested in the space between her breasts. Slowly, she allowed him to move off of her body as he wrapped himself protectively around him.

 

“I’d never been with anyone before.” he finally whispered. She was shocked, surprised that he would have waited so long. Moving her hair to the side, he kissed the back of her neck. “But I glad it was with you.”

“And I you.” she replied, turning her head so she kiss him once more before they drifted into a deep sleep, tangled within each other’s body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a super long chapter but I loved writing every word of it. So much happened that is so pivotal to the upcoming events. Definitely, my favorite chapter of the book thus far. AND THEY FINALLY DID IT!!!! It's about time!!! Honestly, it was the first like sex scene I've ever written. Not really sure how it came out, but it wasn't too shabby either. Probably will get better at it as time goes on. Oh well. Anyways, thanks again for all of your support. Feel free to comment and critique :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's a short one but it is so important. I'll have another chapter posted tomorrow morning. Have fun ;)

_ Two weeks later…. _

Illia stripped off her robes, exchanging them for her armor. She had barely wrapped herself with the cotton cloths that were meant to avoid chaffing around her when Joriell’s arms came snaking around her waist. A wide grin spread across her face. 

Over the past few weeks, he had barely been able to keep his hands off of her. Between the meditation and training that the Greybeards could offer were endless nights of passionate love making that left Illia feeling light and dizzy. His touch was like a healing magic, removing every amount of tension and leaving only euphoria. Women in the capital hardly ever spoke of sex, often referring to it as some kind of duty as a wife. To think that it came with so much pleasure and intimacy was unreal. 

She turned across in his arms, pressing her breasts against his chest as her lips greedily met his. He grinned, pressing her onto the bed where her armor had been spread about, pushing the metal and leather pieces onto the floor as he explored her curves. 

“We should be-” she managed to say between breathless kisses that left her head spinning. He grinned, knowing that she meant to say that they should finish packing before they began their journey back to Ivarstead. High Hrothgar had been a peaceful haven, a place away from dragons and bandits and Stormcloaks. Part of her didn’t want to go, would rather continue to remain unclothed in his arms for days without end. 

“I know.” he whispered “There are things to do, so little time to do it in. It’s just-who knows how long it will be before we have another time like this.”

Her gaze softened. He knew that the battles that awaited them would be even harder, even more dangerous than the last. His hand brushed away the free strands of raven hair from her heart shaped face. She smiled, admiring the chiseled features of his handsome face. He was so beautiful with full lips and dark stubble. He was always so clean shaven, with a darkness from a morning shadow.  His eyes were the deepest of green with small sparkles of blue and honey throughout them. 

“Then I suppose you’re just going to have to keep kissing me.” she whispered, meeting his lips once more as he began to pull at the strings of her clothes.

~~~~~~~~

Over a month had passed and Ulfric was beginning to worry. With the Imperials now aware of Illia’s presence within Skyrim, he feared the worst. For so long, there had been no word, not even a trace of where the girl had gone. Even when she had disappeared within Whiterun, he had kept an eye on her, making sure that rumors of her conquests within the Companions had remained simply rumors. 

The more he learned of her, the more his heart sung at the idea of being married to such a woman. The rumors of her avenging the killers of Kodlak and now becoming the new Harbinger of the Companions; he was sure that his soldiers and people would love her when she would be named High Queen. Yet, other rumors had been troubling. 

Word had begun to spread that she had been travelling with the Dragonborn. Even less was known about him, save that he had also been an initiate within the Companions. With being included in a charge with such high esteem, he must have been an honorable man despite his strong objections to aiding the jarl in his plight against tyranny. Part of him was encouraged by the fact that Illia had his company, for surely a man capable of slaying dragons would be more than skilled in keeping away the Imperials. Yet...his mind wandered to the parameters concerning their relationship. Travelling with a woman, a beautiful one from what he had been told, he doubted that it was an ordinary companionship. 

He didn’t completely object to the idea of her being with another man. Despite what people would have said, he had been young once. He had his share of women, and of romances. He knew what it was to love someone with all of your heart only for it to end. Furthermore, the repercussions for woman, however unfair they were, were much more severe than for some noble. And if she were to conceive a child; Talos help him, all his efforts would be for nothing. No one within the kingdom would support a queen with a bastard child. 

But more so than any of that, he feared of what she would do with the news of her parents death. Would she completely abandon him, leaving him without the support of the nobles within Cyrodiil? He didn’t want to think of how much he would lose, how all the sacrifices would count for nothing if she were to abandon him for some childish fantasy. 

“M’lord,” a young soldier, barely old enough to grow his first chin-hairs, entered his offices with a wrapped cloth. Bowing his head in respect, he handed it to the jarl. 

“Stand, son.” Ulfric said, taking the wrapped item. “I’m no king yet. And we are both soldiers on the battlefield. Act as such.”

Ulfric held the weighty package in his hand, pulling on the strings of it before the fabric fell loose. An axe, made of the finest Nordic steels and leather, remained. Throughout the years, the metal had been chipped, and sharpened countless times. It had tasted the blood of men and elves, all of it in the name of freedom. Here it was; returned to his hands in an act of disdain.

“So, Balgruuf…” he muttered quietly, his heart sinking at the jarl’s reply. He had hoped for more from him. “You would call me to war...so be it.” 

~~~~~~~~

Two days had passed since they descended from the mountain top. Their horses will well kept for with clean coats and full bellies. The ride out of Ivarstead had been beautiful, the falling leaves and colorful trees leaving them both breathless. Sometimes in all the wonder, it was hard to remember the chaos that was enclosing around them. The more she travelled throughout Skyrim, the more she had begun to love her beauty. She was rough, she challenged you in way that the gods could only dream. Yet, in the most quiet moments, where only the fireflies glistened and the rivers spoke did she feel the most at peace. It reminded her of the gardens in the Opal Manor where she had spent so much of her youth reading instead of living her life. Here, in the crisp autumn air that clung to the Rift, she felt the most at peace.

She wasn’t the same person she was when she first arrived in Skyrim. She was a better one. Although Illia still hated the cold, she could stand strong against its chill. She had dared to break the expectations placed on her in order to protect her family. Against all odds, she had protected her friends, vanquished foes, and was now working to fight the dragons. For a land that she had greeted with fear and mistrust, she would do anything now to defend it. It was true, her mother would not recognize her if they were to lay eyes upon each other. She wasn’t a frightened girl anymore, but a woman. Or at least, she was making steps towards it. 

Joriell looked towards her and smiled, slowing their horses down just enough so they could catch their breath. There was no reason to ride them hard. They continued down the sunlit path, enjoying the breeze and light after spending such a long time within the dreary halls of High Hrothgar.

A slight rush of air brushed against her face, the strong whip of the wind. The sound was too familiar, followed with the cry of Joriell falling from his horse and hitting the ground in a bloody heap. 

“Joriell!” Her mind raced as she saw the blood from arrows piercing his shoulder and chest  begin to pool. She looked to the surrounding trees to an envoy of Imperial soldiers beginning to surround them. Arrows at the ready, they began to fire, piercing her steed in the side. Eorlieth toppled over, causing her to crash roughly to the ground with the poor creature on top of her. She heard the snap of her leg breaking beneath his weight before she felt the excruciating pain. She screamed, trying to push the horse off of her broken body. Her eyes went to Joriell who laid beside her on the road. He looked pale, his body unmoving and his breathing shallow. He was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

She heard the sounds of metal footsteps rushing to pull her dead horse off of her.

“Please!” she begged, in a cry of agony as the weight of the horse was lifted from her leg. Hot tears poured down her face, but not from the pain. She reached her hand out, trying to summon what magic she could to heal his wound.“Please, let me heal him!”

“Get up, girl.” a soldier said gravely as he roughly picked her up by her arms onto her feet. She bit his hand to the point that she could taste the metallic flavor of blood on her tongue. He cried out, slapping her as she fell to the floor once more. But she continued to try to drag herself towards Joriell. “Traitorous bitch!” 

A swift kick in her ribs left her breathless and unable to move. One of the soldiers laughed as he pushed her onto her stomach, binding her arms with metal chains. 

“Please!” she begged once more “He’s the Dragonborn! I’ll go with you please, just spare him!”

“The Dragonborn?” the soldier mocked “The Thalmor are going to have their hands full with this one and her lies. Leave him for the crows.” 

**“No-!” But her cry was silenced by a gag being strapped tightly over her mouth. Soon she was shrouded in darkness as a bag was was placed over her head. Her last sight through tearful eyes; her lover bleeding out on the road. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning* There is a lot of graphic content in this chapter. If you're uncomfortable with non consensual themes and elements, do not read

It felt as though a blanket of water was holding him down, suffocating him. Hundreds of miles below the waves, he could only hear echoes in the darkness. A woman screaming and men laughing; he tried with all his might to open his eyes and yet they remained sealed. He wasn’t sure why, but it was important that he wake up. He couldn’t remain like this, trapped in the seas of Oblivion with no way to get out. Screen shots, flashes of light and memory flickered over his eyes like some cruel movie. 

There was a girl, her ebony hair dripping past her waist like spilled ink.  Frost colored eyes stared him dead in the face, expressionless in the night air. She looked like some pale goddess as she stared blankly across the moonlight.

_ “I have you to thank for that.”  _ she whispered. A feeling, lighter than feather barely fluttered across his lips; it was the softest kiss he had ever received. She disappeared under the astounding layers of the sea. 

Darkness washed over him once more, leaving him in his comatose with little but the faintness of her memory. Stillness…..until a scorching heat began to burn his sides, urging him to scream. Yet, the sound died in his throat, unable to escape the agony. Before his eyes stood a great, black dragon. His crimson eyes stared through him, his gaze sending flames burning through his spine and leaving him wounded. 

“ _ Daar los fin  suleykaar dovahkiin fen dir?”  _ his voice boomed in his amusement, a grin spreading across his ancient face.  _ “Sahlo joor.”  _

The dragon inhaled deeply before unleashing his destruction, and leaving Joriell drowning in a pile of flames....

  
  


He awoke screaming, reaching for his sword but only finding it empty. As his blurry vision adjusted, he could see a dark, oak filled room. The air was dreadfully warm, smelling heavily of incense and amber. His legs itched under the cotton sheets of a bed, the fabric nipping at his bare skin with ease. He tried to move, but this time a fiery pain shot through his shoulder and chest, leaving him breathless. His eyes flickered to his bare chest, which was covered in tight bandages that carried the sickly sweet smell of blue mountain flower. 

“Slow down there, hero.” a woman said with amusement in her voice. A Breton girl sat in a chair beside his bed, her legs propped up on a nightstand. Strands of ginger hair peeked from behind her brown hood, her brown eyes lit with humor. Freckles splashed across her pale nose and upper cheeks, making her appear more youthful. Yet, her Thieves Guild armor told a different tale. “You took a nasty wound to the chest. It took Maramal a great amount of time to fight off that infection.”

“Where am I?” His head was suddenly throbbing in pain.

“You’re in the Temple of Mara in Riften.” the Breton replied coolly, cleaning the grime from beneath her fingernails with a dagger. “I was planning on robbing your corpse when the Imperials were done with you, but then I thought ‘Such a funny thing, the man still lives.’ I wouldn’t have felt right pulling the goods from your half dead body. Didn’t seem like you had much on you to begin with.” 

“Imperials…” His mind clung to thought of them. Why would Imperials attack him? For his escape from Helgen? Hardly, Jarl Balgruuf had cleared him of the charges permanently. Still, something was clouding his mind, as if he was still trapped beneath the waves. Waves...the dragon; Alduin had haunted his dreams, tormenting him in his weakened state. But there had been a girl; a girl will eyes the color of the sea. “Illia-Where is Illia?”

“The pretty thing that was traveling with you?” the girl questioned “I couldn’t say. The Imperials dragged her off, mentioning something about the Thalmor and what not. Weren’t treating her too kindly either.”

“No, I have to-” he went to stand but his knees gave way too easily. The Breton girl was immediately on her feet, and gently pushing him back to his rear.

“Sorry Dragonborn, but the girl is long gone.” the Breton said. Although her voice was cold, her chocolate colored eyes revealed an unannounced sympathy. He wondered if she had really meant to rob him. “No one taken by the Thalmor ever comes back. And it’s been three days. Your friend is lost; you can’t run off playing hero for someone who can’t be saved.” 

“You don’t know Illia. She’s alive.” Joriell tried to argue, but his body wouldn’t allow him to. He was still clammy and feverish from his infection. Even if he wanted to, he was unable to leave. 

“It’s not about her being alive.” the girl replied “It’s about getting her out. Even I don’t have the connections to break someone out of the prisons of the Aldmeri Dominion.” 

“And who would you be?”

“I go by Gem.” she replied quite confidently “And I am the leader of the Thieves Guild.”

  
  
  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


After almost another hour of arguing, exhaustion and sickness finally made the poor sod fall into unconsciousness once more. So this was the great Dragonborn, the one the legends said would save them all from Alduin the World-Eater.  Gem scoffed. 

He seemed nice enough, although it was obvious that he was foolish. His childish belief that he could save his friend would get him killed. She wasn’t completely cold-hearted though. She knew what it was like to lose someone more than most. 

 

When she had first arrived in Riften, Gem had been only seven years old, clinging to a yellow blanket that her mother had knitted for her when she was still just a babe. Slaughtered by the elves, her aunt and uncle couldn’t be bothered to raise an orphan and instead took it upon themselves to send her to Honorhall--an orphanage ran by Grelod the Kind, a title given to her by the locals as some sort of dark joke. Anyone with ears could hear the screams of children who had been given the whip by her hand. For years, she had taken the beating with a grain of salt until she was seventeen. That was when she met Brynjolf. 

Charming with a smooth voice and chiselled features, she would watch him from afar, admiring his physique and confidence. Women would swoon as he passed by, barely giving them a passing glance as he stole their coin purse. One night, she had been watching him as she often did when she saw a dark shadow following him to his hideout. A slender man with blonde hair and silvery eyes, approached him with a dagger, ready to gut him and steal his coin. Hot rage flooded Gem’s chest and before she could come up with a better plan, she tackled the man to ground just before he attempted to carry out his plan. The tiny girl managed to leave him unconscious in his own piss before she turned to face Brynjolf, who was watching her with curious eyes. 

_ “Well now, call me impressed lass.” _ he said, his seductive tone making her knees weak.  _ “I’ve known you’ve been watching me for a while now, but I could have sworn I lost you back there. You’re as quiet as a mouse.”  _

She had been terrified, her heart pounding against her chest. She didn’t know what he would do. Would he tell her to scurry off back to Honorhall? Call her a rat and cast her aside? She must have looked like an open book because he approached her, resting a warm hand against her pale cheek. His rough fingers had brushed away the dirt on her face, making her stomach want to leap out of her throat. 

_ “How about we share a proper meal, eh?” _ he said, guiding her to the local tavern. Not only had he bought her a hearty meal, he offered her a chance to join the Guild. The job was simple enough; steal Madesi’s silver ring and plant it on one of the local shopkeepers. With trembling hands, she had fumbled around with the lock for what felt like forever until she heard the tumblers open.

Planting the ring had been a much easier tasks, her light feet giving her an edge. She barely felt bad watching the merchant be dragged into a holding cell.

_ “Well that went better than what I expected. _ ” Brynjolf had said  _ “You’re in, lass.” _

 

The stench of the Rataway had almost driven her off, but once inside the Ragged Flagon, she felt as if she were home. Brynjolf continued to give her jobs for the next several weeks until he finally introduced her to the leader of the Guild: Mercer Frey. He had been a harsh man with an icy exterior and from the moment they met, his contempt for her was clear. Still, she did the hardest job he gave her; breaking into GoldenGlow Estate. The job had been more difficult than she anticipated, but she had managed to crack into the safe, stealing the deed before burning down three of the honey farm’s bee hives. A job well done had not only earned her gold and drink, but also a night in bed with Brynjolf.

_ “Isn’t this why you’ve been watching me, lass?” _ he had whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. She had never been with a man before, and he knew it. But the want pooling between her legs was too much to bare. Her hands had slid into his trousers, grasping the smooth, sensitive flesh that lay hidden and stroking it gently. He moaned, not expecting the virgin to be so forthright. It had been too much for him to take. He stripped the girl of her clothes quickly enough before having his way with her throughout the night. 

For weeks, it had been bliss. Jobs throughout the early morning, drunkenness at noon, and endless, wild sex with Brynjolf in the evenings. The man could make her toes curl. But soon, it began to change. Instead of just ending their nights in sleep, they would lie awake, sharing their secrets and dreams. Their talks would last even longer than the sex (and that was pretty damn long). One night, they had been basking in each other’s presence, bathing in just the heat of being so close to one another when Brynjolf pulled his silver ring from his finger. The trinket was heavy with a bright topaz stone and a raven’s crest. It was enchanting. 

_ “I was an orphan once…”  _ he began to speak softly in her ear  _ “This was the only thing that I had of my father’s. I pawned it once for scraps. I regretted the decision, and went back later and stole it from the shopkeeper I sold it to.”  _ His face was light, full of bliss in her presence as he spoke fondly of the memory. His amber eyes had melted her heart, her thin hands stroking his cheek.  _ “I don’t like losing things that are important to me...so I guess there’s little else to say now except that I want you to have it now.” _

_ “What-why?” _ she asked, confused as he slid the heavy ring on her finger. It was loose, barely fitting her tiny frame.

_ “Because I want to marry you, lass.”  _

 

Soon after, the jobs started leading to a trail that no one expected. An old master thief named Karliah had been trying to create a division between Maven BlackBriar and the Guild. Mercer had explained that Karliah had slept her way to the top, cozening up with the previous Guild Master, Gallus. Eventually, she betrayed the Guild by killing Gallus and attempting to murder Mercer as well. Frey had tracked her down to a secluded ruin, and decided to go with her to finished the job.

_ “You come back to me, lass.”  _ Brynjolf had said coolly, trying to hide his worry.  

_ “I’ll be back before nightfall...be sure to warm the bed for me.”  _ she had said with a flirtatious grin as she kissed him good-bye.

 

Yet, she hadn’t returned. Mercer had betrayed them all, and in the process, he had slit her throat and left her for dead in the tomb. Karliah had made a split second decision, saving her life in the process. In truth, Mercer had been the one to kill Gallus all those years ago. But his betrayal went beyond that. A secret order of thieves known as the Nightingales had been paying homage to the daedric prince Nocturna for centuries. Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer had been the last guardians of the Nocturna’s artifact, the Skeleton Key. Mercer had stolen the treasure, causing a rift between Nocturna and the Thieves Guild. It was why their luck within the Guild was beginning to run dry. Together, they found proof of Mercer’s betrayal and presented it to the Guild. Their trust was hard to earn, but with the safe empty of all its contents, including plans to rob the Eyes of the Falmer; the Guild had no choice but to believe them.

Brynjolf had been overjoyed at her return, sweeping her up in his arms as soon as the air had settled. His touch had been desperate as if he could hardly believe that he had returned to him in one piece. Their reunion was cut short, however, when Karliah said that they needed to regain an alliance with Nocturna if they hoped to defeat Mercer. In that moment, Brynjolf and Gem had become Nightingales, granted the blessings of Nocturna. They managed to track down Mercer to some dwarven ruins in the north. Fighting Dwarven machines and Falmer, they eventually laid eyes on the most sought out treasure among thieves: the Eyes of the Falmer. 

It had been a bloody battle, one with too much loss. Gem had been beginning to gain the upper hand on Mercer, his clothes stained crimson with his own blood. He was weary and weak. He knew he was no match for the Breton, but out of spite he casted a final spell on Brynjolf. She turned to see her lover take his own sword and turn it on himself, taking his own life in the stupor of a spell. Mercer drew his last breath with a smile on his face.

_ “Byrn, Bryn you have to get up!”  _ she had sobbed as the walls around them began to fall, the cavern filling with water. Yet, her love would not speak with her. All life had left his body, leaving her with only Karliah. The Dark Elf seized the Skeleton Key from Mercer’s corpse before dragging Gem away.  _ “No! I won’t leave him!” _

_ “He’s gone, Gem. There’s nothing you can do!” _

 

The cavern flooded and the pair barely escaped with their lives. Once on dry ground, Gem had collapsed in a sobbing heap, unwilling to leave the final resting place of her soon-to-be husband. 

_ “Why?”  _ she had asked in her rage  _ “Why did you take me from him? I could have-I could have--” _

But the truth was that there was nothing she could have done. Brynjolf had been dead by the time he hit the ground. She looked to the ring that still rested on her finger, irate and full of sorrow. They had made camp there for the night. Soon after, she returned the key to its rightful place, and had been made Guild Master. Yet, there was no glory in her victory: only loss. 

  
  


She felt Joriell’s pain as her own, could feel the loss that he would surely come to know when he was fully healed. That girl was lost to the Thalmor, and there was nothing he could do about it. In truth, she had been following them after she finished a job close to the border of Ivarstead. The pair made her curious. She had stumbled across a many weary traveler where she would wait in the shadows, prowling as a saber-cat until the opportunity arose for her to empty them of all of their coin. These two seemed more well verse in the wilds, aware of the danger and prepared to face it. It created a sort of challenge. After the event that had transpired in the dwarven ruins, she had hardly felt a challenge even with the tasks Delvin flooded her with.

_ “We must renew the reputation of the Guild!”  _ he would lecture over and over until she felt that her ears would begin to bleed. She would scoffs, snatch the damp paper from his hands, and then make her way to finish his job. Even then, his insistent nagging would continue until the wee hours of night. Sometimes she would even dream of it. 

Still, to see someone who was well aware of their situation was new and exciting. They were more watchful. Of course, they had been so caught up in their travels that they had failed to discover the well laid trap that the Imperials had laid out for them. At first, Gem thought that they had finally tracked her down in hopes of capturing her. She had been in the process of carefully slipping away when she heard them begin to fire the arrows. The girl had screamed, begged for them to allow her to heal her Companion, and it had caused Gem to pause in her escape. She knew those desperate screams, understood the anguish in her voice at the thought of losing her partner; despite every instinct in her body, Gem needed to save his life. That was even before she had heard her say that he was the Dragonborn. Gem knew that there was nothing she could do to save the girl. But she could do her this boon and save the man’s life. Still...she could only imagine what the Thalmor had planned for her.

  
  


~~~~~~

 

_ Six weeks later... _

  
  
  


Tremble: That was all she had managed to do in the days of her captivity. The putrid, dimly lit halls that housed the prisons reeked of shit and piss. Her tightly confined cell was lined with hay for her to sleep on when they didn’t leave her chained. In the latest hours of the night, when she lay between the darkened bliss of unconsciousness and chaotic light of reality, she would will any magika that she had towards her healing. Her leg, which they had continually re-broken when they placed her on the stretching rack, was now mostly healed. Still, she left the bloody wounds and bruises in hopes that they would be kinder to her. They would do no such thing, but still she feared what they would do once they knew she was fully healed. They had already done so much…

 

Illia couldn’t remember the last time she ate. The Thalmor had only allotted her the smallest amounts of water so that she might still survive. For hours, they would hound her with questions of what royal families her parents had turned against the Emperor. But she had never been privy to names; her lack of information rewarded with swift punches or another turn of the stretching rack. She had heard rumors of the Thalmor’s cruelty, but this was unreal. She hadn’t thought that it could get any worse. That was until some of the men dragged her off into one of the cleaner rooms. 

She had screamed as they forced her on her belly across the top of an oak table. Two had held her down by her wrists, laughing at her broken sobs as a third spread her legs apart. And then finally, there had been the sharp pain that left her begging for him to stop. Never had she felt so...alone. No friend to hear her screams, to wipe away her tears as they forced themselves upon her over and over again for hours. It was never same men too. Sometimes one would take her from behind while the other forced himself on her mouth. All she could was weep as they finished, making way for the next soldier to take his place. Even if Joriell was alive to find her, she prayed he never would. Everything...every nerve, every breath felt wrong. It was as if she wasn’t a whole person anymore, like they had taken it from her, the part of her soul that wanted to keep fighting. All sense of control, of her own strength and power; all of it had felt stolen in an instant as the elven man had forced his way within her body. She didn’t feel human anymore; she was no better than a tool for them to use for their entertainment. 

 

_ “Do you know how your mother died?” _

Silence…

_ “Screaming like a bloody whore.”  _

__ **Silence…**

_ “But the way that she moaned as my men took her...I guess it must be feel like a blessing to be with real men.” _

__ **_Silence…_ **

  
  


Broken and dirty; she prayed to Mara for a swift death, a release from the suffering. But the rage...her rage could not be silenced. Her blood thirsted for vengeance, to feel the warmth of their innards between her fingers as she ripped them from their bellies. She yearned for the taste of their sanguine richness on her tongue as she slaughtered them. But more than anything, she wanted to hear their screams. She wanted their tears, their sobs, their pathetic pleas for mercy; she wanted to silence them as they had silenced her. To take their voice, their cry; she would magnify it all ten times over. And it wouldn’t just be the Thalmor, no,no; the Emperor and his men die just as cruelly. She would be the one to deliver the final blow; she would make sure of it.

 

She heard the door swing open once more as another Thalmor goon entered her cell. She prepared herself to be lifted and dragged into the room where they would continue to rape and torment her. Yet this time, there was only one.  _ So...it’ll be torture today... _ she thought. The Thalmor approached her carefully, leaning so close that she could smell the lilac on his skin. He gently brushed away the hair from her face, examining her features carefully.  Perhaps he did have plans for her after all, she ignored his amber gaze, unwilling to look him in the eye before he continued in his defilement of her body. Yet, the Thalmor instead blanketed her with a his maroon and gold cloak, covering her naked and bruised body before lifting her gingerly so that she was cradled in his arms like an infant. 

“Don’t worry, m’lady.” he whispered quietly in her ear, sending shivers down her spine as she wept. Although she knew his words were meant for some sort of sick comfort, it just reminded her of the cruel things the previous men had done. “We’ll get you out of here.” 

She felt him shift as he carried her through the hall to another corner of the hall, setting her down gently, he pulled a key from his belt and opened a trapdoor that was marked on the floor. Opening the latch, he picked her up once more and jumped down. He landed gracefully on his feet, moving quickly through the darkness. This time though, he laid her on the ground so that her head was rested in his lap.

“I’m going to have to unclothe you once, m’lady. But it will be only to heal your wounds.” he cooed softly as he awaited her permission. She grunted in some form of agreement, or one that at least sounded enough like one for him to remove the cloak and begin his work. Instead of the honey colored light that she normally associated with healing, a vibrant purple aura escaped from his palms, lighting the entire cave. A warmth washed over her body, leaving it vibrating and relaxed as she saw the wounds in her flesh disappear without even a trace of a scar. “My dear, Lady Stormborn.” he whispered, holding back tears. “They’ve done so much to you.“

She looked to him once more, but this time, instead of a Thalmor was a Nord. His lilac colored eyes were welling with tears as he realized what the Thalmor had done to her. His skin was deadly pale, with thick black hair that hung in his face. He was clean shaven, with a single scar, so thin that it could barely be seen on his chin. He covered her once more, his appearance no longer changing. 

“How-how were you one of them?” she whispered

“My name is Darren Blackwater, m’lady. I am a Nord and here to free you.” he whispered “Now save your strength. We’re going to need it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was super dark chapter. But, on the brighter side of things, the new characters Gem and Darren have finally been introduced to the story. I, personally, love Darren. When I first thought of him, I didn't think that I would appreciate him as a character as much as I do, but now he's as much my baby as Illia is.   
>  I didn't want to get too graphic with the rape scenes, that's probably something that I'm never going to get super in depth due to personal reasons. But I do think that it is a topic that is not very openly discussed; more so the entire healing process that comes after you've experienced it. Illia will definitely be on an adventure throughout all of this.  
>  As always, I'm super grateful for all of your support. Please feel free to comment and critique. :)


	15. Chapter 15

_ 153 years ago… _

 

The scent of lilac and lavender perfumed the air surrounding the gardens. Faces of angels and the Divines were carved into the white stone of the fountain, where crystal blue waters were flowing throughout structure. Along the flattest edge of the stone, a little boy tried to catch some of the floating lilies that moved in gentle waves across the surface of the water. His raven hair clinging to the sweat on the back of his neck, he was close to falling in when nimble arms surrounded him.

Potema was beautiful with thick ginger hair that shined like flames in the sunlight. The Nord woman was tall and slender, wearing her summer garb with pride as she pulled her youngest son towards her. She playfully bopped him on the nose, causing the the toddler to giggle with delight.

“What have you been doing today, my sweet?” she asked with a wolfish grin. Darren pointed to the flowers, his brown eyes filled with enthusiasm. “Interested in flowers now?” She turned to a single black flower that was blooming within the colorful wild flora. The flower was beautiful, stained with dark eggplant and violet stripes. Crimson and vibrant, the center of the flower almost illuminated that petals that surrounded it. “Do you know what this is, my love?”

Darren shook his head, but reached out for the blossom. Potema smiled as his little soft hand tightened around the forest colored stem. It smelled bitter and sweet, like a rose and honeysuckle.

“This is Black Mountain Flower.” his mother cooed. “It’s very rare, but a lot of it grows in our gardens here. They say it can heal any wound even ones that seem to last forever.

The toddler held the flower closely to his chest, drinking in every word his mother said. She smiled, beginning to show him all the blossoms and how he could use them. He didn’t say much, mostly gurgling, but every word was glued to his memory. He wanted to know more, felt an urge to know learn and to grow.

“My queen…” a soldier dressed in silver and red garb approached her and the child. Ever since her husband had passed, all they seemed to do now was bother her. Especially with Uriel still not being named heir to the Ruby Throne.  “A letter has come from Cyrodiil for you from Emperor Antikus.”

“That obese, disease ridden fool.” Potema muttered, setting Darren down so he was once more playing in the grass. “The sooner the man dies, the sooner Uriel will be on the throne.”

 

Without another word, she disappeared, leaving Darren in the gardens to play.

 

 

_ 138 years ago.... _

 

“Again.”

 

The word echoed in his mind as he tried to pour all his energy into the spell. Light….hellish and blue washed across the room, leaving only a wave of flames behind to lick at the runes and carvings that kept that fires from spreading. But the flames broke through the barrier, causing both Darren and his tutor to hide behind the stone towers as Darren stopped the chant. The flames vanished, leaving the sulfur smell of smoke and the licorice scent of magic.

“By the gods,” Markus Blackwater muttered in contempt “If I had known that my siring a child would bring such potential of destruction, I never would have laid with Potema.” 

 

The elder mage stroked in his salt and pepper beard in frustration  as seventeen year old Darren tossed his robes to the side. His magic had been out of control since the time he was ten years old. The violence and destruction his casting caused didn’t make any since. Yes, magic was in Potema’s bloodline through his grandmother Quintilla. But the old woman was barely even considered a mage. When he had first learned that King Macharira had not been his father, that instead he had been born as the result of an affair between Potema and Markus, he had been riddled with guilt and shame. For years he had looked King Macharira in the eyes, referred to him as father; but it had all been a lie. He felt unworthy to refer to him as such when he was just evidence to Potema’s betrayal. 

Potema started treating him differently once he knew the truth. If she had any regret in what she did, he did not know it. If she did then it meant she regretted that he was born. If she didn’t, it meant that she didn’t regret the betrayal of her husband. Either one left Darren with an unsettling feeling. But whatever her thoughts on the situation, one thing was clear; he could no longer remain in Solitude. Thus, Potema had shipped him off to Markus, who was in fact a powerful mage. Still, even he could not help Darren contain his power. In fact, the only way he could control the magic was to barely use it at all. Whenever Darren casted a spell, he could sense a deeper power lingering beneath, begging him to pull at it. But the young mage would refuse, swallowing the urge to revel in the gifts the gods had bestowed upon him. 

“There is news I must tell you.”

“Then share it.” Darren said, forcing the venom in his voice to scatter. His emotions: they made it all the worse. The more feeling he put into his magic, the more destructive it became. It was a reflection of him.

“Uriel…” Markus began “He did not withstand against the attack in High Rock.”

Darren paused, swallowing the sorrow that was already beginning to wash over him. Then there was nothing, a simple technique the Order had taught him. He turned to Markus, glaring deeply at the man.

“Then I will return to Solitude.” he said quietly “There is nothing left for me here, Markus.”

“I am your father-”

“You are my tutor...nothing more.” Darren seethed before turning away. 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~

 

A week had passed and Darren finally reached Solitude. Yet, the once stunning city was no longer the home that he once knew. Darkened clouds splattered across a green and yellow sky, the city was riddled with dark magic and necromancy. Deathbells and Nightshade were in bloom throughout the city, signs of death and foul play. Still, his mother greeted him with open arms. But she was no longer the same Potema he once knew. Her ginger hair was frayed in a surge of madness, her pale skin almost translucent. Lilac….her eyes which had once been the darkest shade of brown were now lilac. 

“My son…” she greeted in a voice that was not of her own. “It seems the gods have graced me once more.”

“Mother-”

“You will help me raise my armies.”

“I have no money to gather men.”

“Men die to quickly. They are weak and quick to betray.” Potema said, her eyes glowing brighter. “I need the vampires, I need their corpses raised once more; they will fight until they are no longer of use to me.”

“Mother, I can’t do that.”

“You would refuse me!” Potema exclaimed, her rage growing. His eyes glanced to a silver ring with a single purple stone that glowed even brighter than his mother’s eyes. A violet haze snaked across her body like a smoke, fueling her anger and madness. What forces had she resorted to? “You would side with those who murdered your brother!”

“Never!”

“You will not refuse me, Darren.” she exclaimed “I gave you life, and it is mine to do with as I please!”

 

 

 

 

_ 135 years ago…. _

 

 

Wet...dripping...droplets of water falling onto stone called out to him in a song. For three long years, he had remained the darkest crevice of Solitude’s prisons. His body ached from the chains that kept him restrained, unable to move, unable to summon his magic. Three long years, Potema had forced him to wield his magic for her vile plans. Torture: that had been her game. Heated steel had branded his skin, guards were brought in to beat him until he could barely breathe, holding him underwater until he felt his lungs might explode; all of it had been used until he could no longer stand it. He would break, and Potema would once again have another legion of vampires and the undead to rage her war. Three long years, the undead had taken the city and murdered hundreds. And still he did not have the strength to kill her. How could he? The woman who had given him life, who was just being used in some sort of daedra’s spell. He could not kill her for another’s mistake. But still...he could not let it continue. Three long years and finally his opportunity had arrived. 

The servant girl, Iyarah, returned swiftly. The elvish girl was beautiful with snow colored hair and deep-set green eyes that took his breath away. In her mocha colored hands, she held the silver ring that had been destroying his mother’s mind. 

“I managed to steal the key from the guards.” she whispered, unlocking his chains.

“By what means?” Darren asked.

“None that matter now.” she said turning her head in shame. He fell in a grunt on the floor, but she quickly helped him back into a sitting position.  “I’ve never seen a stone like this before. I thought it was only amethyst, but it’s something different.”

“That’s because it’s not a stone at all.” Darren said, admiring the carefully hidden secret. The evil presence was still ensnared within the purple, blue stone, begging to be freed. “It’s a soul gem.”

 

 

 

~~~~

 

Deep within the violet walls of the gem, Darren found the soul that he was seeking. A werewolf, a black as midnight, stared at him with crimson eyes and drooling teeth. It reeked of rot and death. Lust and rage perfumed the air like some sickening perfume.

“You dare face me on your own, mage?” It growled between yellow, snarling teeth. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are weak.”

“And you will die.”

 

The wolf charged at him at full speed, slashing at the young mage with his all might. His thick claws slashed across Darren’s chest, leaving a ghastly, bloody wound that left his out of breath. Brown eyes filling with determination, he stuck out his palm. A hellish blue light formed in the center of his hand, striking out at the dreaded wolf like an abomination. However, the monster was too quick. It moved swiftly, once again slicing the young mage across his stomach. Blood poured from the open wound, causing Darren to feel dizzy. Breathing in deeply to numb the pain, he struck out once again, a single bolt striking the creature. The wolf howled in agony, but would not stop in his assault. Darting across the crystal landscape, he pushed himself off of stalagmite, gaining more momentum as he went to strike at Darren. Narrowly dodging the blow, Darren fell to his knees.

 

He knew he was stronger than this. Although the beast was nimble and strong, it was no match for him. But he was terrified, terrified to let go of the control, to allow his magic to reach it’s full power. His father had always told him to control it, that his mind would make him stronger because he would be able to think quickly. But his blood called for him to feel, to turn the emotions back on so he could once again reveal his strength. But this time, there would be no restraint. 

His slim fingers touching the floor, he breathed out feeling every moment that he had faced over the past three years. The death of his brother, the disdain from his father, the betrayal by Potema: all of it came crashing over him in endless waves that left his body weak and full of agony. The winds began to circle around him, the crystals in the landscape glowing brightly around him in the presence of his magicka. The wolf paused, knowing that his doom had finally come. Darren screamed, his eyes glowing a vibrant shade of lilac and the wolf began to evaporate. His flesh began to flake into ash, slowly festering a fading away as he howled, begging the mage to end it. The flesh began to strip away to the muscle, burning until it turned his very bones to ash. In a matter of moments, the creature was no more.

 

Darren fell to side before moving to stand again. The crystal felt clean, but in the winds, he heard an echo of laughter. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

Darren awoke with a start, reaching desperately for Iyarah. She looked over the frightened mage closely, checking him over for wounds. Instead, she found his pale skin was barren of any of the scars his mother had caused him. 

“I do not understand.” she whispered with trembling hands. She turned his head to face her and gasped. “Darren, your eyes.” Instead of the once chestnut color irises that she had grown accustomed to seeing, she now saw bright lavender pools. The soul gem had defiled him, taking part of his soul along with it.

 

 

 

 

_ Now… _

 

That fateful night had changed Darren forever. Instead of destroying the wolf that had been enslaving his mother, he had actually freed it from it’s prison. The creature had destroyed Potema’s soul. Despite all his efforts, he had failed her. It was not long after that Potema was killed by the Emperor for her betrayal. Iyarah and Darren had fled the city, parting ways on the banks of the Sea of Ghosts. Refusing to leave his country, Darren left his name sake of Darren Victus Septim the III, abandoned his claims for the throne, in exchange for the name of Blackwater.  

With part of his soul forever trapped within the ring, Darren was cursed to wander the lands of Skyrim for one hundred and fifty three years, never aging and unable to die. At one point in time, Darren had attempted to free himself, however he knew that his soul would not survive. Instead of the halls of Sovngarde to greet him in the afterlife, he would be sent to the Soul Cairn where he would roam in unrest for all of eternity. At least in Skyrim, he would have soft views and entertainment. In life and in death, he would have no peace. Yet, it was not the end. With his soul being trapped so closely within the void of the spirit realm, he was able to tap into vast amounts of power. Whereas other mages would grow weary and had limits in their powers, Darren was able to access the powers of the aedra and daedra alike. It was truly within his power to dominate all of Tamriel if he so wished, yet Potema’s war had left a foul taste in his mouth. It was why he refused to participate in any of the wars that had taken place throughout the decades. That was until he met Ulfric Stormcloak. 

Although he disagreed with his methods, he believed that Skyrim had a right to her independence. The race of man had allowed the elves to become too powerful. However, he did not agree with his prospects of taking over the Ruby Throne. When Akatosh forged the alliance with the Septim dynasty, he said that he would never allow the daedra to threaten Nirn again. The last time man had broken that covenant, the Oblivion Crisis had taken place. Darren feared what would transpire if Ulfric were to sit on the throne. 

 

There was a shuffling in his bed where Illia remained asleep from her capture. His heart broke for her. In so many ways, he understood the sorrow that she carried. She was so young, barely nineteen, and she had gone through so much. Sent off to be wed to a stranger, the death of her parents,  tortured and raped by the Thalmor, and who knew what she had gone through during her time in Whiterun. So much loss and grief, he feared for Ulfric’s new queen. During her dreams, she would cry and scream, clawing at her arms in an attempt to fight whatever enemies haunted her sleep. Darren would often send kind scenes of open valleys and river against sunset skies while she dreamt in an attempt to calm her. More often than not it worked. Still, how much could one girl stand before she would break.

 

~~~~~~

 

Screaming...not an audible yell, but a faint echo that made her feel like the world around her was crumbling; it was all she could hear in her void of shadow, separated from the light of man. In this abyss, she was absolutely alone with no one to hear her pleas for silence. And there was no comfort, no warm, and no way for her to end the madness. Memories from what felt like a lifetime ago flashed before her eyes like some foul movie where she was the star of her own nightmares. She could still feel her bones breaking from the rack, the hot breath on the back of her neck, the suffocation from her tears; all of it was a reminder that at one point in time, she had been helpless to another’s whims. But the worst part of it all: knowing that she was unable to stop it, and there had been no help. No one had heard her scream, or wiped away her tears. And thus, she was still engulfed in the madness, in the silent, deafening screams that casted all joy or relief away. She wanted to die, to be rid of it already. And yet, something else was growing...a flicker of hope amongst it all.

 

Rage...to think that something talked about with self righteousness and scorn was her only relief amongst it all. How could the Thalmor get away with this? Where was her justice? Where was Joriell’s justice? Her thirst for vengeance, for compensation: it was the driving force that kept her breathing in that cell and now. 

Although she had disagreed with Japheth and Lyanna, they were still her parents. Their execution was one conducted out of anger. And her mother...to think that the Imperial guards in the capital had done the same things to her, that she too had been raped and defiled and tortured. No person, no matter how great their crime, deserved that. 

And Joriell...her heart broke at the memory of him lying in the middle of the road in a pool of blood. She didn’t know if he lived, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever know. But she had to try, she had to learn his fate. She didn’t think she could continue to live with herself if she didn’t. 

 

 

 

_ Three Weeks Later… _

Illia had spent her days reacquainting herself with the walls of the Palace of Kings. Grey and cobblestone, somehow they seemed more welcoming this time, as if they might understand her. Ever since being taken by the Thalmor, she had found herself to be in a gray fog that left her uneasy and numb. It took gentle reminders from Darren, the jarl’s apothecary and head mage, in order for her to eat. Even then, she could only manage to force down a little before she was back in her room, her body purging itself over her chamber pot. She refused to allow any of the chambermaids to help her dress. Their touch would leave her wincing and out of breath. And then she would grow furious with herself for being so weak willed. So it was easier for the entire situation to be avoided by not having them touch her at all.

Her problems did not stop at getting dressed in the mornings. Ulfric had mentioned their future marriage more than once. He was determined to follow through with the noble support, but he also wished to maintain good relations with his soon-to-be wife.

“Illia, I understand your reservations,” he would begin saying “In fact I would be more concerned if you were to rush into this after what you endured. But I also have my country to think about.”

“Ulfric I-”

“I would not force anything upon you.” he said, trying to make the conversation as less awkward as possible, but he was sorely uncomfortable with the topic. “If our marriage was by title only, for a time at least, I would understand.”

Part of her wanted to say yes. He was being kind to her, kinder than what she thought she deserved. But the memory of forest colored eyes would flicker across her memory, and her heart would once again reject him. She had yet to learn of Joriell’s fate. Two months had passed since that fateful day in the road, and no word had spread about the Dragonborn. She had sent out letters, scouts, even asked Darren to track him with magic.

“I’m sorry, m’lady.” he had said “But unless I had something of his, I would be unable to track him.”

Although she yearned to know if he might still live, part of her was relieved that she would not have to face him. She knew he loved her, would never do anything that would cause her pain; but she felt different. Unworthy of him whereas before she was unashamed. He deserved better than her.

“M’lady,” she heard the familiar voice of Darren behind her. She smiled, something that she only seemed to do in his presence. He had been so kind to her since she entered the Palace of Kings

“Before you say anything more, Darren, I insist that you refer to me as Illia.” she grinned.

“Illia, then,” he replied with a warm expression  “The leader of the Companions has responded to the letters that you sent him some time ago.” Darren handed her a light parchment sealed with a red wax insignia. She sucked in a breath, quickly taking the letter from Darren’s hand, although not impolitely.

 

__ _ Harbinger, _

__ _ It’s been some time since last we spoke. I had heard rumors of your capture, but I believed them to be falsehoods. My apologies. If I had acted sooner--I guess what happened in the past doesn’t matter now. _

__ _ In regards to Joriell’s location. From what I’ve gathered, he’s very much alive. Witnesses have claimed to see him working out of Riverwood as well as the Rift. However, that was weeks ago,. The reports did mention a number of companions travelling at his side, the one sticking out being a woman of Breton descent. Not much is known on her though. I wish I could provide you with more information, but I only have so much influence. You mentioned residing in Windhelm? If so, your scouts are under Ulfric’s bidding. Keep your daggers close, my friend. _

__ _ Much has changed here in Jorrvaskr since you’ve been gone. We’ve taken to accepting orphans and training them in the art of combat. One of them, a boy named Ethriel, shows promise. Ria (she sends her love) gave birth to our child; a girl. We have given her the name Una. So far, she is clean of the curse, due in no small part to you. Ria and I will officially be married within the next moon. You told me once that you would attend, however, I understand times have changed. But, if that pompous milk drinker Ulfric keeps you from attending, by all means inform me. He and I will exchange more than words. _

__ _ Eyes on the skies, Harbinger. These are troubled times ahead, and I have no doubt that you and the Dragonborn will have a big role to play in them. _

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ _ \--Vilkas _

“Illia?” Darren questioned, his lilac eyes concerned.

“I must travel to Whiterun.” she began slowly, fighting back the tears welling in her eyes. He was alive.  _ Joriell was alive. _

~~~~~~

Lights flickered throughout the decadent, cream colored halls of the Thalmor Embassy. The marble floors looked as if they were made out of stained glass, reflecting the light so it blinded guests with its many colors. Hypnotic statues made from the hardest stones greeted Joriell and Gem as they entered palace of beauty and debauchery. Somehow, Elenwen had managed to import waterfall fountains from the Summerset Isles  to line her colorfully decorated walls. Yet somehow throughout all this pomp and color, the High Elves had managed to leave the Embassy looking refined and elegant, as if such a thing could ever coexist.

Of course to match the occasion, Delphine had made sure the pair had dressed in the finest clothes. Joriell was dashing in his black robes with just a hint of orange fabric underneath for color. Gem’s slender frame appeared willowy and tall in a burnt orange dress. The gentle fabric flung to her curves, making her features slightly more striking. Joriell rested his hand on her hip as they entered, continuing their guise of being new coin, aristocratic diplomats who had gained their wealth through labor instead of inheritance. Elenwen, with her many guests that all needed attending to, paid little mind to the extra pair entering her home, and instead allowed them to enter with barely any questions left.

Yet, the Dragonborn’s work was never done. Delphine’s agent, Malborn, was working the bar, giving him a motion to come over. The Wood Elf had managed to sneak in some of Gem and Joriell’s supplies, but it was the bare minimum. Their weapons, armor, a few healing potions and lock picks; everything else would have to be stolen as their began their raid of the Embassy. The goal was simple; find out the Thalmor knew about the return of the dragons. Delphine was convinced that somehow they were involved, or at least would know how to stop Alduin. Still Joriell had not been hiding his other motives for breaking into the Embassy.

For the past two months, the Dragonborn had been waiting to hear any rumor of Illia’s location. But with the limited resources he had as well as the impending dragons, there was only so much he could do. Delphine managed to pull some strings to negate specific locations where the Thalmor could have been keeping Illia, but no word had yet come. He was beginning to fear that he would never find her. Gem could do little to comfort him. She didn’t know anything about the girl despite what he had told her, and she doubted she was even alive. Most who were taken by the Thalmor didn’t come back. Telling such a thing to the Dragonborn though would do little to sway his resolve.

Without drawing much attention, they approached Malborn. The bartender was as twitchy as a mouse, a bundle of nerves that was likely to draw the attention of Elenwen’s cat eyes as one of Joriell’s shouts.

“Good, you’re here.” Malborn said, his eyes darting from side to side to make sure that no one was listening. “I can get you in through the door behind me, but we need a distraction.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Gem grunted, snatching a glass of wine from the counter and swallowing it down. “Just what exactly do you do here?”

“Hey, I’m risking a lot by doing this for you guys.” Malborn replied defensively. Joriell shot Gem an amused look before assuring Malborn and guiding her away from the bar. However, the thief would not part until she had another drink in hand.

“I truly believe that he’ll be doing nothing, but opening a few doors for us.” Gem moaned in frustration “I could do that in my sleep. Why did Delphine waste her coin on him?”

“Because although you can break into locks, darling,” Joriell muttered giving a nod and a smile to a passing nobleman as he guided his ‘wife’ throughout the party “Even you lack the abilities to get your hands on an authentic invitation to one of the Thalmor’s parties.”

“Oh, you doubt my skills, husband.” Gem teased, sipping more of her wine before she was staring wide eyed, face to face with her worst nightmare. Maven Blackbriar, a major client for the guild, was staring her down with her abyss colored eyes. At one point in time, she might have been attractive, but the stony look she carried had morphed her face into a resting grimace that could scare the daedra.

“My, my…” she began slowly, ignoring Joriell as she looked Gem in the face. “If I had been aware that you would be here, I would have turned feet and left this engagement.”

“Always a pleasure, Maven.” Gem said, giving a forced smile “It seems your influence knows no bounds.”

“Why of course, my little Nightingale.” she whispered darkly. “However, I care little for what work brought you to this little engagement. I’ll make you an offer, pretend that you don’t know me, and I won’t hire the Dark Brotherhood to slaughter that little gang of yours.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Maven.” Gem curtsied before taking her leave. Taking Joriell by his hand, she pulled him away from the stalking crone and guided him over to a quiet corner where they could discuss their business.

“Who was that?” Joriell asked, confused as to what woman could possibly send Gem running. In the time that he had known her, Gem had proven time and time again that she had no fear to speak of. Instead she was strong willed, determined, and unstoppable when it came to getting a job done.

“A client.” she replied, her brown eyes turning to face him with the same intensity and focus that he had come to rely on. “So, any ideas on how to cause a distraction?”

“You could always show one of the nobles your knickers, and see what that does?” Joriell quipped.

“As much as I’m sure you’d fancy seeing my smalls, let’s try to think of something a bit more realistic.” Gem retorted with a playful grin.

“Well I don’t know, Gem.” he replied, examining the crowd for eavesdroppers. “You’re the thief here. Aren’t you supposed to be well versed in this sort of thing?”

“A bit…” she said, examining the crowd. She finally caught eyes with a nobleman trying to catch the fancies of a server. The little Bosmer was trying as best she could to avoid the noble’s intentions, still he wouldn’t budge. “But I think I have a bit of an idea.”

Before Joriell could speak another word, Gem slithered away into the crowd, making it impossible to follow her nimble figure. At the same time, he found himself magically surrounded by prying nobleman who were adamant about knowing every detail of the ‘new money’s’ family history. Gem scooted along the crowd, catching no attention as she continued to sip on her wine. She made her way over to the elite, who seemed to have finally given up in his attempts to sleep with the servant girl.

“Hello there.” Gem purred catching the man’s attention, his gray eyes looking her up and down. The noble took her and and brushed his lips across her knuckles as he introduced himself as Erikur. “Such a gentleman, I wasn’t sure such a thing could exist in this day and age.”

“On the contrary, my fair lady…” Erikur eyed his prey with no shame “I’m simply one of a kind.”

“I heard such a thing only minutes ago from the little elven maiden over there.” Gem said, motioning to the servant “The poor thing surely fancies you, but alas is unable to admit such affection in sight of Elenwen.”

“Truly?” Erikur questioned

“Indeed…” Gem said “In fact, I believe the girl could be easily swept off of her feet if you were to simply openly pursue her, even in front of Elenwen.”

“Well then, perhaps I should speak with her in private.” Erikur replied. The man slunk away like the ‘gentleman’ he was before making his way over to the servant girl. Gem almost felt sorry for her, but she knew the Elenwen wouldn’t let her staff be harassed in such a manner unless she was the one doing the harassing. The Breton girl made her way over to Joriell, who was beginning to give a look that told her that shouting nobles away was in the not-so-distant future. Using her charms, she managed to pull the Dragonborn away from  the nobles just in time for the show. Malborn quickly pulled the pair to the door behind the bar while Elenwen began her angry speech towards Erikur and the crying servant girl. With shaking hands, Malborn unlocked the door and brought the pair into the back.

 

The halls that led to the kitchens were still as vibrant as those in the main hall, decorated with fine paintings that were probably worth a fortune. Gem couldn’t help but think that if she had the time, she would definitely be stealing a few on her way out. The air was permeated with the smell of smoked meats and wine, enough to make the girl’s mouth water. Joriell, however, seemed more concerned with the female Khajiit who was attending to the evening’s supper.

“Why are there strangers in my kitchen?” she exclaimed as the elf guided the pair towards the back.

“One of our guests is ill.” Malborn explained, somehow remaining calm throughout the encounter. “Let the poor wretch be.”

“You know that Elenwen does not permit guests in the kitchen!”

“Oh really, Savanni?” Malborn said with more confidence “I didn’t realize that moon sugar was allowed in the kitchen either. Perhaps, I should inform Elenwen-”

“Fine, fine; I saw nothing.” Savanni muttered before returning to her duties. Malborn practically pushed Gem and Joriell inside the pantry, locking the door behind them. Turning to the pair, he moved over to a covered corner where a thin white sheet was covering a chest. Unlocking it, it’s contents was overflowing with their armor and weapons.

 

“This is as far as I can take you.” Malborn whispered so that Savanni’s careful ears would not overhear them. “Once I open that door, you two are on your own. I’ll give you both a moment to dress.” 

Malborn turned, trying his best to give them both some kind of privacy as they stripped off their dress attire. Gem had managed to pull some strings, giving Joriell access to better armors. His well-worn steel armor had been replaced with plain quicksilver chainmail. Over top of it, navy blue cloth (which was enchanted with additional protection spells to guard him from damage enemy blows) covered a layer of black, fireproof leather. On his shoulder and arms, additional quicksilver had been forged to guard him from any further damage. The best part of it was that it was lighter than the steel, making him faster in battle. Gem also decided to draw less attention in a set of a leather and cloth armor that kept her light on her feet. After dressing, the pair were ready to send off. Without another word, Malborn locked the door behind them, leaving the Dragonborn and the thief alone in the halls of the Thalmor Embassy. 

 

It was quiet enough to begin with. Few guards were patrolling with the party going about, instead they were drinking at one of the bars. With them intoxicated, Gem was able to easily slip past them for a sneak attack that left them all dead without raising an alarm. Joriell shot her a crooked smile as he searched the bodies for any keys.

“Are you still hoping that you’ll find her here?” Gem asked quietly, as she watched the Dragonborn skim over any papers the guards had on them.

“I doubt they would keep her here.” Joriell replied, his evergreen eyes focused on his task. “However, information is more likely. If I could just get a location…”

“Joriell--”

“I know what you’re going to say, Gem.” he said cutting her off, but with no malice in his tone. “And if she is--the sooner I know...well let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The Breton nodded, knowing that bringing up the possibility of Illia being dead would lead them nowhere. Joriell would keep focused on his task, but she would never leave his mind. Until he knew her fate, she would always be haunting him.

They pressed on until they found a door that led outside. The winter snow was harsh, but what was more, there was a large amount of soldiers. The pair  was noticed almost immediately. One of the guards signaled the others and went to attack Joriell. Pulling his shield, Joriell managed to block him and bash him so that he lost his footing. Taking the opportunity, he slash at  his throat, the only unguarded place on the man’s armor. The High Elf collapsed and bled out in a matter of seconds, but it wasn’t long before another was ascending upon him. He swung his blade, knocking Joriell off of his feet. Just as he was about to bring his blade down to pierce his chest, Joriell brought up his shield. The blade pierced through the worn metal, but Joriell used it to his advantage. He spun the shield around, disarming the soldier in the process. Now completely vulnerable, Joriell pierced the elf through his chest. Gem leaped over the wall that surrounded the wintery courtyard, launching a dagger in the direction of a Thalmor who was readying a bow to fire at Joriell. The bow fell from his hands, but quickly he used his magic to summon a blade that collided with the Breton’s dagger. Gem struggled under strength and weight of the Thalmor’s force, but still managed to kick out, sending him onto his back as she drove a blade through his throat.

Joriell, distracted with dispatching another Thalmor, felt hot fire scorch his back. He cried out in pain as a mage began to unleash an explosion of flames onto him. The heat scorched his skin, causing it to blister, and the metal of his armor to burn his flesh. He held up his shield, blocking some of the flames. Sweat poured down his face, and the cold air only added to the agony. He forced himself to swallow down the pain and to push himself closer towards the mage. The flames became more brutal, but he wasn’t stopping. Finally, he got close enough to push the mage back and slash out at him. Surprisingly, the head of the elf came flying to the ground in a bloody heap. Joriell relaxed for a moment, inhaling deeply as he tried to ignore the burns across his skin. He pulled out a healing potion from his pouch and uncorked it using his teeth. Swallowing it down, he almost choked on the putrid liquid, but could feel the burns begin to heal into fresh scars. The pain finally subsiding, he motioned for Gem to make their way towards the opposite building of the embassy.

After quickly disposing two more guards, Gem and Joriell  made their way down to the lowest levels of the Embassy. Inside, there were three cells and a couple of torture tables. But what caught Joriell’s attention was a desk area. He began to tear through the drawers until he eventually found three journals with different names on them. He stuffed them inside his satchel in his haste and continued to tear through the letters until he found one regarding Helgen. 

“What is it?” Gem asked as she watched for more guards.

“It’s about the attack on Helgen.” he said shuffling through the pages. “They seemed to have a list of all who was there?”

“Would you be on that list?”

“I don’t know.” Joriell replied, sifting through more of the documents. A tightly wound scroll with a green seal caught his eye, more specifically the name ‘Stormborn’ caught his eye. He tore it open almost immediately, unable to turn his gaze away as he drank in the words from the letter.

“What?” Gem asked but he didn’t reply. “You found something on her?”

 

Lady Elenwen,

 

My apologies ambassador, last night our facility experienced a break in. Several of our guards were found with slit throats, the wounds looking to be of their own doing. Some foul magic must have been at play. The intruder did not steal any plans of value, instead, he was more interested in our newest prisoner, Illia Stormborn. 

We have no knowledge as to whom would be aiding her outside of the fortress. It would have been impossible for her to send any messages as she has been kept under lock and key. Still, she had refused to give any information as to which nobles in Cyrodiil were helping to influence Ulfric’s goals. It seems we may never know for the intruder has helped her escape. However, you have no need to worry, for my men will continue to track her. This time, she will break or she will face the axe.

                                                    --- Commander Arinir Silverstone

 

Joriell breathed in relief. Somehow, despite all the odds, Illia was alive. Where, he had no clue, but outside of the Thalmor’s control, he faced a better chance of finding her. For weeks, he had been fearing the worst, had half given up hope. It seemed the gods were favoring him.

“She’s alive.” he managed to finally say “And she’s escaped. I---I don’t know how it’s possible but this was dated only a few weeks ago.”

“Meaning that there’s a chance that you can find her?” Gem was elated. She hadn’t thought it was possible, doubted the very idea of it. “Well, let’s get out of here so we can find your lady lover.”

Sticking it in his satchel as well, he nodded and was about follow her on her way out when he heard someone cough. Unsheathing his sword, he approached one of the cells more closely. Another Nord, who was dangerously thin and dirty, was hanging in chains. His greasy blond hair hung in his face, and he seemed to be in and out of consciousness. Joriell sheathed his sword and helped unchain the man.

“Easy there, friend.” he said as the man tried to run “You’re in no shape to be fighting.”

“Who are you?”

“No one that you need to worry about.” he said “Do you know a way to get out of here?”

“The trap door.” he answered as he tried to point at the door hidden near the stairwell. “They use it to toss bodies.”

“Good, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys so it's been a while. I'm so sorry it has taken so long for me to do any updates. My life has currently been crazy. My waking hours have been dedicated to finding a new job since my current one keeps cutting my hours, so I've literally been stressing about that. But luckily, I may be hearing back from my dream job very soon. (The interview went well and I'll get paid a lot more so I'll no longer be living on ramen. I'm not even kidding, I've lost 6lbs from eating nothing but ramen for two weeks straight.) But I'll more than likely be posting another chapter within the next week or so, so please keep reading.   
>  Not gonna lie, the last few chapters have been very difficult for me to write because they've been a reflection of some of the things I've been struggling with for a while now. But, I think it's probably therapeutic. Now when it comes to Darren, I was heavily inspired by classical music. He's so dark and mysterious, my inner goth girl loves everything about him. He's as perfect as Fenris from DA2. <3 I hope you guys will like him as much as I do. I am planning on eventually writing a book/series just for him as well. It may just be a series of one shots though. I don't have a definite plan yet so we'll see ;) Again, thank you guys for all your support. Even though I've been out of commission for like 3 weeks (holy shit) I've still been seeing more hits and comments of support. So please, continue write your comments. I want to know what you guys think. :)


	16. Chapter 16

She could feel him watching from the doorway as she began to pack her bags and change into her traveling gear. She knew that he disapproved, that Whiterun was an Imperial Province where she could easily fall into harm’s way again. But Darren did not need to speak a word in his silent protest. Ulfric would be displeased, something she wished could be avoided, but Illia would not be swayed in her decision to press onward. She would find Joriell, and they would be reunited with one another again. Jorrvaskr was just a place to begin her search. She was healed, physically at least, but she knew that she was out of practice. It would be dangerous to travel the roads alone, but she would manage. She had before. 

“Will you leave without a word?” Darren asked as she tightened the belt of her corset. The chainmail and leather felt so familiar, as if a layer of her skin had been missing. Strapping her bow to the back of her cloak, she turned to face her friend. 

Darren could hardly recognize Illia in her armor. Her slim features appeared more muscular and toned instead of fragile. Her long hair, which he had grown accustomed to seeing in a tightened black bun, was styled into a loose braid that fell midway down her stomach. It seemed more...natural. 

“Even if I were to ask,  he would never allow it.” Illia spoke softly. “I will not marry him, Darren. I never wished for it.”

“You know I care little for that, Illia.” he replied “My concern isn’t for Ulfric, instead it’s for you. Your mind is-”

“I know.” she replied “But I will never move past it until I start to live again.” She looked down as the gray blue dress that had become her favorite while she remained in the palace. Even still, it was just a reflection of how her life would have been if things had been different. If she had never come to Skyrim, she would have remained that quiet girl with dreams of being something more than a noble’s wife. Although she had left in order to protect her parents, Illia knew that deep in her heart, part of her had left for her own freedom. And yes, it had come with pain, with suffering. She had lost so much; her parents, Farkus, Skjor, Kodlak. She had been tortured, beaten, bloodied and raped. But she had fought, she had freed others, and she had fallen in love. Even if she wasn’t the same, she could not abandon Joriell in his quest to slay the dragons. 

“Then I will follow you.” Darren finally spoke

“What? But the jarl-”

“I don’t care.” Darren replied, rather harshly. “I don’t care about this bloody war. Do I believe Ulfric is right? Yes, but that hardly matters now. This rebellion was supposed to mean freedom for the Nords, the free worship of Talos; now it is a power struggle between Ulfric and the elves. I should have left long ago.”

“But Darren-”

“You will need me, Illia.” Darren replied “Even if you don’t know it yet. I will not abandon you when I know you will need my aid. The dragons need to be stopped for they are the greater threat to  Skyrim. If I can be of assistance in that then so be it.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“More than I’ve ever been sure about anything else.” Darren said “We will leave tonight.”

 

 

 

 

~~~~

 

“Follow me.” Darren said quietly as he guided Illia through the streets of Windhelm. Snow was still falling in the region despite the summer months finally coming to Skyrim. The streets were barren, save for a few guards and beggars, yet even they chose to retreat within the walls of Candlehearth Hall. His hand not touching her, he kept his arm hovered above her chest to keep her against a wall as a patrol of guards passed. “They know who you are now.” 

Illia nodded, knowing that until they were outside of Windhelm, both she and Darren were in great risk of being discovered. Waiting for the moment, Darren took Illia’s hand on instinct, pulling her towards the Grey Quarter, where the gates leading outside the city would be less guarded. She flinched, but did not pull away, allowing the mage to lead her to where they would go unnoticed. Slipping outside the gates, they looked around to see that only a few Argonians were sitting along the river banks. Tossing a pouch of gold towards one of the starving fisherman, Darren began to untie the rope that kept one of the little row boats secured. Helping Illia inside, he began to pushed the boat into the waters before jumping within the raft. Each of them taking an ore, they began to paddle towards Whiterun.

“We’ll hit rapids in twenty miles.” Darren said once they were out of sight and ear range of any guards. “But this will get us far enough so that we can go without catching any guards attention.”

“Are you saying that we’ll be out of the province?”

“We’ll be out of Ulfric’s reach. That’s all I can say for certain.” Darren replied, pushing roughly against the icy waters. “I will say, I’ll be overjoyed to finally be in warmer regions.” 

Illia smiled, watching her friend in the low light of the reflecting waters. The rivers shined from the glittering stars above them, reminding her of diamonds. Freezing to the touch, it was a beautiful sight that was only disturbed by the ripples from their boat and paddles. Above them, the skies were even more brilliant. Violet, green, and aqua; the streams of light were painted in brightly lit streaks across the star littered skies. The full moon gave enough light for her to make out the strong features of Darren’s face. Despite being so young, his thin frame made his face appear more angular to the point that it was nearly elvish in nature. His skin was nearly as pale as the moonlight, glowing softly underneath it. His lilac colored eyes demanded her attention, the flowery pools captivating her as they radiated in the cool night air. Everything about his nature otherworldly, as if he was too beautiful for the lands of Skyrim. Yet here he was, paddling in the boat beside her, working to reunite her with the man she loved. 

“Darren, whatever your reasons, I’m glad that you’re with me.” she finally said, no longer absorbed in the silence of her thoughts. Darren smiled back at her, the grin lighting up his entire face.

“Get some rest, Illia.” he replied “I know the way and will keep on course.”

“But Darren-”

“I know you have not been sleeping well, my friend.” he replied gently. “Rest now, so that you’re prepared for our journey on foot at first light.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“So what is your real name?” Joriell asked as he swallowed a spoonful of stew. Gem was taken aback. Not many had asked her what her real name was. Only Brynjolf had ever known it, and even he had only known because she insisted that he did. Gem filled her gulp of ale, looking around their surroundings. There was the bard, Sven, who had more than once asked for a tumble in her bed. Most of time, she would get really close and flirt back just so she could steal the coined he earned that night. Lucan and his sister Camilla, who for whatever reason seemed to catch the attention of all the sods in the village. She was barely homely with mousey brown hair and too much rouge. Other than Orgnaar and Delphine (who was coming through the journals that she and Joriell had returned with), no one was in the tavern. 

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Because you hardly speak a word about yourself, Gem.” Joriell replied “In the two months we’ve traveled together, I only know that you are a well accomplished thief. Is it a sin to want to learn more?”

“No…” she replied wearily although she knew Joriell would do her no harm. “My name is Genevieve Valehood if you must know.” 

“Genevieve…” he pondered on the name, allowing it to wash across his tongue in thoughtfulness.  “Sounds almost royal.”

“My mother was always one to impress.” Gem grinned at the memory.

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead along with my father.” Gem replied sharply, although not unkind. “I was raised in Honorhall. I grew up as a blacksmith’s daughter. Didn’t get to learn any of the trade before the elves killed the old man though.”

“I’m sorry.” Joriell replied 

“Don’t be.” Gem quipped with a light-hearted smile “I’m not. I wouldn’t be where I am now if they hadn’t have died. Wouldn’t be the tough bitch you know and love.”

“You certainly do smell like a bitch.” Joriell laughed with his crooked smile which caused Gem to playfully punch him in the arm. “Although, I did remember something that I must attend within the coming weeks. How do you feel about traveling with me to Whiterun?”

“Whiterun?” Gem exclaimed, nearly choking on her ale. “What in Nocturna’s name would bring you there?”

“I have a wedding to go to.” Joriell replied “An old friend wrote me saying that he heard word from Illia, and also invited me to his wedding.” 

“Do you think she’ll be there?”

“I can’t know for certain.” Joriell said, his mind returning to the thought of the archer who stole his heart. He had been ignoring the aching in his heart that longed for her touch, or the sound of her voice. Taken by the Thalmor, the chances of her living had been slim. But she had surprised him as she often did. Vilkas had not gone into much detail as to where she had been hiding, but to know that she had reached out and she had been looking for him; it gave him all the hope in the world.  “But I have to seek her out. At the very least, I could gain more information as to where she is.”

“Alright.” Gem said with a groan “Alright, loverboy, I’ll go with you to this wedding. If your blushing beauty doesn’t arrive, at least you will still have an attractive date.” 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Whiterun looked different in the summer air. Sun shining so brightly that the plains looked slightly brown among the patches of green long grass, Illia breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of her home. Darren grinned at her reaction. The air was warmer although even in the summer, Skyrim remained chilled. They continued down the mountain path just outside the outskirts of the city. Eyes focused on the horizon of Whiterun, Illia would have lost her head if not for Darren’s quick reflexes. His hand quickly projecting a violet shield, the arrow that was meant for her throat was quickly deflected. 

“Bandits!” Darren shouted, beams of light already beginning to form in the palms of his hands. Thrusting his arm forward, the electricity devoured the mountain side as it struck one of the parties of bandits. Illia unstrapped her bow, locking an arrow and fired. Except this time, the wind took the arrow off course, hitting the area next to where a Wood Elf was preparing his next attack. An arrow came soaring in her direction, but luckily the rogue managed to evade the blow. Firing her bow once more, this time the area hit the archer’s soldier. However, her small moment of relief was quickly tarnished as a ball of fire came flying in her direction. Slightly off path, the ball exploded near her thigh, heating the metal of her armor to the point she that she screamed. 

 

 

__ _ “Tell us the names of the nobles, girl.” the Thalmor growled between his teeth. The stench of blood, piss, and shit flooded her nostrils. Her naked skin felt clammy and bruised against the cold metal of the stretcher. They hadn’t even bothered keep her in her smalls, leaving her victim to the elements among other things.  _

_ “I--I don’t know them.” she managed to whimper. The soldier nodded and she readied herself for the inevitable feeling of the chains pulling her limbs apart. The tumblers of the turning wooden wheels echoed in her ears as the soldiers grunted. The pain started in her wrists first as they dislocated under the pulling pressure of the chains. She stifled a scream, biting through her bottom lip until the blood poured down her chin. The Thalmor raised his hand, cutting the process short.  _

_ “We’ve been at this for weeks, girl.” The elf continued on. “You know as well as I do that this response will only bring you pain. You and I both know that it’s a lie.” _

_ “I’m not lying.” she groaned in half slurred wounds from her swollen lip. “My father wouldn’t let me see the nobles that were funding. He kept it all in letters.” _

_ “You damn well where those letters were addressed to, you lying worm.” The High Elf nodded to his soldiers  once again. The golden warriors grinned as they pulled the wooden wheels even tighter, raising Illia up so that she could feel her shoulders shatter under her weight. Her spine felt as if it was ripping in half, the bones throughout her body cracking as felt her muscles tear. She screamed, unable to hold back the agony. Her muscles felt like they were burning and if they pulled any tighter, she knew her spine would break and she would never be able to walk again. But the captain stopped it before it reached that point. The soldiers let her falls back onto the table roughly, causing her to cry more as her broken bones felt the full extent of her weight against the table.  _

_ “Perhaps the rack isn’t going to get you to talk.” He stuck out his hand. This time, one of the soldiers handed him a metal branding covered in decorative lines and curves that formed a intricate pattern of spirals. The metal was iron, set in the fires so long that the metal was glowing a vibrant shade of white and orange. “Turn her on her belly.”  _

__ _ Illia couldn’t move. The soldiers flipped her onto her stomach, her body still broken and limp. She heard the Thalmor approach her from behind, his mouth so close to her ear that she could smell the scent of wine on his breath. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. _

_ “Tell me who the nobles are, Illia.” he muttered “Or I’ll have no other choice but to use this on you.” _

__ _ Illia tried to hold back the tears. She thought about lying, of naming some family that she knew had nothing to do with it just for the relief from the agony. But it would be worthless. They’d continue to torture her until they eventually killed her. There was no point in even trying. _

_ “I don’t know.” she finally said, clenching her teeth at the words. _

_ “Wrong answer.” The brand collided with the center of her back, leaving her screaming so that all of Nirn could hear. _

 

A sword collided against her bow, the wood barely protecting her against the swift blow. Illia blinked her eyes, trying to remember what had happened, but she found herself in a blur that left her feeling hollow and void. She kicked out, sending the bandit that was fighting her onto his back before she pulled one of her daggers and slashed his throat. Her hands violently shook as the blade rested in her hands. The world felt like it was spinning as she fell to her knees. She couldn’t breathe, the air was too thick and too heavy. All she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat against her chest. The blood circulating throughout her veins felt like it was on fire as the feelings of pins and needles spread across her face. To make matters worse, she began to hysterically sob, making it even harder to breathe. Above her, Darren had quickly finished the last of the bandits and was rushing towards her in a hurry. 

“Illia!” Her leg was completely singed from her thigh up to her hip. She was shaking so violently, he feared she was having a seizure. But he knew this feeling, the panic that overwhelmed the body so violently that if left you a shell of your former self. He had dealt with the same episodes after escaping his mother’s prisons. “Illia...what’s your name?”

She tried to remember, tried to pull the memory back into thought. What was the name of that girl? The one with the black hair who had been beaten and burned. She knew that it was her, that they were the same. But what did people call her? Her mind was blank, only making the violent shaking worse.

“Your name is Illia Stormborn.” Darren continued, seeing that it was getting worse “Illia, what is your name?”

 

__ _ Illia…. _ that sounded familiar. She knew that person. She was that person.

“Illia.” she managed to force out in a shaking voice. “My name is Illia.”

“That’s right.” he said, smiling so that she would know she was okay. “Now Illia, where are you?”

“I’m in the room.” she whispered, her mind still trapped in the memory, unable to pull herself out of it.

“No, you’re not.” Darren said as he watched her eyes dart from side to side, trying to see something other than the torture room. “Illia, you’re in the mountains on your way to Whiterun. Where are you?”

_ Whiterun... _ that also sounded familiar. Slowly, she felt the pieces begin to pull together. The road beneath her no longer looked like the stones of the Thalmor prisons. Instead of the scent of burnt flesh and dank air, she could smell the waters of the river flowing beside them and the eucalyptus that clung to Darren’s clothes. Seeing that she had calmed down, Darren began to use his magic to seal her wounds.  “Now, what’s your name and where are you?”

“My name is Illia Stormborn.” she said, still shaky but less absent. “And we are on our way to Whiterun.”

“Who is we?”

“You and I?”

“And who am I?”

“You are Darren Blackwater.”

“That’s right.” Darren said with a smile. Reaching down to take her hand, he helped her to her feet. She managed to walk despite feeling light headed and filled with anxiety. He knew the feeling, how afterwards everything felt unreal until you went out and actually touched the world again. If such a small skirmish could cause her to relive such horrors, he feared what else the gods had in store for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter to write. So I figured I'd just come out and explain how the story is turning a little. So in January of last year, I began to have major panic attacks that would leave me shaking and crying in the bathroom of my college for up to an hour and half almost three to four times a week. I entered therapy the following month and was diagnosed with PTSD and trait dis-associative disorder. What this essentially means is that I subconsciously choose not to feel anything at all and will go through periods of straight numbness. Symptoms include memory loss, numbness, sleeping too much or too little, inability to feel pain, inability to remember conversations etc... until I eventually have a *trigger* moment and then I enter into a full blown panic attack. Tis a vicious cycle that has changed my life and made it very difficult in relationships and everyday activities.   
> So why am I telling you all this? Well, I've been in therapy for almost a year and I only have two sessions left. I no longer suffer from panic attacks (at least not to the same extent. I still deal with them but very rarely), and have learned to manage to the dis-associative disorder to an extent. A big part of the reason why I have these disorders is because of trauma I experienced during my childhood. And as much as it makes me super uncomfortable to share all this, through this writing, I feel like I get to explain my journey at least a little bit through the character of Illia. The panic attack she suffered during the battle is literally an example of something I've had to go through multiple times in one week when I first started my therapy. If it hadn't been for my friends, boyfriend, God, and therapy; I don't know where I would be right now. And I wanted to share that on here because I don't think it gets talked about; at least not the actual healing process that comes from trauma. So, I figured why not share a bit of my journey here.   
> So now that all that serious business is over, let's continue on to the good stuff. I should have another chapter up within a week or two. Thanks for your support guys :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning* Non-consensual content ahead.

Once they were in Whiterun Hold, Illia had finally regained herself. However, the city which had become her home, was different from when she had left it. Instead of the familiar yellow armor of Whiterun soldier, Imperial red dotted the landscape. 

“So it seems Balgruuf has finally taken a side.” Illia muttered as she and Darren remained perched in the foliage along the hillside.

“Ulfric was still planning the attack from last I heard.” Darren explained “He’s still gathering his soldiers. Anyone would be foolish to take on Whiterun’s walls without enough numbers. Whiterun has the defensive advantage on their side. Now that they’re reinforced with Imperial soldiers…”

“It would be foolish for anyone with a Stormcloak banner to approach the city.” Illia said. The neutral territory was finally gone. There was nowhere safe for Illia to remain. With the Imperials hunting her and Ulfric searching for her, there was no place of refuge. She would have to hide within Jorrvaskr, but once her business there was done. She would have to be on the move: with or without Joriell. She couldn’t let Jorrvaskr pay for her charges. “According to the Imperials, I carry that banner.”

“And I don’t exist.” Darren replied “I can use my cloaking magic on you. We’ll appear as merchants. But there can be no delays. Are you ready for this?” 

“Always.”

 

Darren took her hand causing the slightest tremble in Illia’s fingers until she felt a soothing sensation across the muscles of her hand. Darren placed his other hand on top of hers and an amber colored light began to escape from the spaces between their flesh. Her blue eyes drinking in the light, relief spread across her skin from the sensations of warmth as she witnessed her flesh turn to a soft golden color. She felt her limbs shift and change, although not painfully, as she grew slimmer and shorter. What was even more shocking was the feeling of air brushing against her now uncovered neck where her raven waves had once been a barrier.

“I must say, being a Bosmer suits you.” Darren said finally, returning his hand to his side. Illia rushed over to a puddle of water from the nearby mountain stream. She looked so different.

Her heart shaped face had been replaced with sharper, more diamond like features were narrow and thin. Her black hair had been replaced with short, red mohawk with a single braid running down the side. She turned to speak to Darren only to find that he too had changed into a the thin, muscular build of a male Wood Elf. 

“Then I suppose we should head to Whiterun then.” he said with a grin, his voice thick with the haughty elvish timbre. 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The cities streets were even more filled to the brim with militia, prepared for even the off chance of a war. Even with the magic hiding their appearance, Illia was quick to lead Darren past the Plains district. But even she was surprised to see the amount of people beginning to stock up on smoked meats and other non-perishables. The citizens were preparing for a siege, or to be without food for a long while. She swore she could even overhear a few citizens mulling over plans to abandon the city for Rorikstead. The air was thick with fear and tension, and with the battles to come, she knew that Whiterun would never be the same. 

Darting up the stairs, they could overhear the preacher of Talos, Heimskr, in a serious debate with some Imperials who were trying to uphold the White-Gold Concordat.

“ You’re not allowed to preach the false god, preacher.” A soldier harshly rebuked.

“You! You are the blasphemer! Giving yourself over to the Thalmor dogs!” Heimskr yelled in a rage. “Talos is a god among man. And you spit on him as you suckle from the Thalmor’s teat! You are weak!”

The soldier would tolerate no more of Heimskr’s admonishing. Illia flinched in surprise, pausing in her footsteps at the base of Jorrvaskr’s stairs as she watched the soldier swiftly bring Heimskr to his hands and knees with a brutal kick that left the old man out of breath. 

“Stop it!” a familiar voice called out. Lucia, a little orphan girl who Illia had given septims to on more than one occasion, was rushing to the old man’s side. Heimskr had been caring for her for quite some time, making sure that she had a warm room to stay in the Bannered Mare for the coldest nights, sometimes even taking her into his own home so that she had food in her belly. The soldiers ignored the little one, sending her into a righteous anger in defense of her caretaker. Her tiny fists began to collide in against the soldier, hurting more of herself than the man. In response though, the Legionnaire grasped the girl by her face and tossed her to the stone so that she fell in the water that ran throughout the city. Shivering and cold, the girl began to cry, and this time, Illia could not stay silent.

Moving away from Darren, who was trying to protest her interference in fear of her potential capture, Illia’s elven guise melted away, revealing the tall Nordic warrior that she truly was. Luckily, no one had noticed the change in the magic as she approached the soldiers. 

“Enough!” The word escaped her lips so that the very earth might tremble. One of the Legionnaires was quick to greet her though.

“Stay out of this, b-” But before he could finish his insult, Illia struck his throat with accuracy and precision that had been so natural that he immediately fell to the stone. The other men, who had been busy viciously apprehending the preacher, finally noticed her and began to draw their swords. Blood rushing throughout her veins , Illia allowed her body to move in what felt natural, almost as if she was her normal self again. Kicking out, she sent one guard flying into the altar of Talos while the other seized her by the leather of her armor. She used the unevenness of his weight to her advantage, gliding her legs around his back before using her weight to send his falling onto his chest in an aggressive slam. 

Lucia watched in amazement as the woman sent the soldiers to their knees, unable to believe that they could be triumphed over so easy. Taking her chance, she raced over to Heimskr, beckoning the man to get up as Illia grasped one of the soldiers by his greasy hair and growled into his ear. “Leave or next time it will be my dagger you meet instead of the ground.” The soldier groaned in pain and embarrassment, but as Illia stood more soldiers began to surround her. One of them, obviously the captain of the soldiers approached her with a drawn sword.

“ You have committed crimes against Whiterun and her people, by order of the jarl-”

“I believe the jarl will allow the Harbinger of the Companions some grace.” A booming voice said behind her. Vilkas, shirtless in his training pants, made his way down the stairs with two other children behind him. He looked at Illia with softened eyes before returning his stare to the captain of the guard. “I doubt the jarl will support the actions of soldiers in beating one of his citizens and laying his hands on a child, would you?” 

“No, but this woman-”

“This woman defended a child when your soldiers would attack her.” Vilkas said “You may occupy Whiterun, legionnaire, but we decide if you remain. Do not forget your place.” 

“I’m going to speak to the Jarl about this.” 

“I’d love to see what he has to say.” Vilkas laughed “Go running back to your master, pup.” 

The captain glared in defiance but motioned for his soldiers to follow him. The child helped Heimskr to his feet, where Darren was already beginning the process of healing the old man’s wounds. Vilkas finally turned to Illia, and smiled warmly.

“It’s nice to see the Thalmor did not break your spirit.” he said, picking her up in a crushing bear hug and setting her down gently.  “I doubt those soldiers will be thinking clearly with knowing they were beaten so easily by an unarmed woman.”

“What have those Imperial bastards done to this city?” Illia asked, her tone thick with venom 

“More damage than good, my friend.” Vilkas began, his eyes beginning to tell her a story “But it’s better to speak without prying ears, especially with your reputation. Perhaps, we should speak inside.”

“Of course.” she said looking to Darren who had completed his task with Heimskr. They turned to leave, but not before they heard little footsteps running behind them to follow.

“Wait!” Lucia was raising behind Illia, tugging on her slacks to gain her attention. “How-how did you do that?”

“I learned to fight, child.” 

“But-but--I want to learn.” Lucia said, her eyes filled with desperation “I was too-”

“You are not weak.” Illia replied softly, crouching down so she could look the girl in her eyes. “You are very brave, for what you did. But, you must learn to battle before you enter such fights. Otherwise, you’ll end up worse than just wet and cold.”

“But how?”

Illia looked to Vilkas, who gave her an understanding glance. He looked over to one of the children that were following him. One of them, a boy with thick brown hair with another little girl beside him. 

“Sophie, Ethriel; how about you show Lucia around Jorrvaskr? I’ve got a feeling that she’ll be staying here for a while.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

After a quick introduction to Darren, Illia and Vilkas retreated to Kodlak’s old offices. Handing her a goblet of wine, Vilkas and Illia sat in the same seats that they had shared with the old Harbinger.

“To Kodlak.” Vilkas said, lifting his goblet with Illia as he swallowed down the harsh liquid. “He would be proud of you, Harbinger.”

“I’m hardly the Harbinger, Vilkas.” Illia replied “I lied to you all, save Joriell as to who I was. I should have trusted you with the truth. I have been dishonorable.”

“You were protecting your family, Illia.” Vilkas said kindly “That is the most honorable thing a Nord can do. It’s why we fight and shed the blood. It’s for our sons and daughters, our husbands and wives, our parents and siblings…” Grief flashed over his eyes at the thought of Farkus, pushing for Vilkas to drink more. Forcing the sorrow away, he turned back to his friend. “It’s strange, Farkus was once the only family I knew. And now...when I looked at Una and Ria...I have even more of a reason to fight. I have to come home to them.” 

Illia smiled at the warmth that had melted Vilkas’ heart. Her friend was now a proud father, soon to be a proud husband. The love was healing his heart and more. She raised her glass once more.

“To family.” she cooed before drinking the goblet. Splashes of berries hit her lips, filling her with warmth in her stomach. “How long have the Imperials occupied Whiterun?”

“Too damn long…” Vilkas growled “The people are scared. The dragons are becoming worse, more and more villages are burning. How long will it be before one of those things comes and burns Whiterun to the ground? And this damned war between the Stormcloak and the Imperials…”

“It’s going to reach a head.”Illia finally said solemnly “This cannot continue for much longer, Vilkas.”

“We need Joriell.” Vilkas said “There can be no peace without him.”

“You’re right.” Illia sipped “‘Have you spoken with him?”

“I sent him a letter after I received yours.” the warrior continued as he refilled his goblet. “I have no idea where he is. I’ve only heard of Riften and Riverwood and the Breton woman.” 

“A Breton woman?” Illia asked “Is there any word on her?”

“Not much other than she’s from Riften…” Vilkas said, but Illia could sense more. And she feared the worst.

“Tell me, Vilkas.” The man hesitated, trying to find the words. After swallowing the last of his second goblet, he set the cup on the table before opening his mouth to speak.

“There….have been rumors about their relationship.” Vilkas began slowly “But you know how the innkeepers like to flap their gums.” 

“Ay.” Illia muttered, her heart clenching at the thought of it. Had too much time passed? Did he even care for her to begin with? Was she just someone to warm his bed? No-no, Joriell would never do that to her. He loved her. She was sure of it...right? “I guess, we’ll see in a few days. But enough of that, I want to see this baby girl.” 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Una was beautiful. Mocha skin, slightly paler than her mother’s, and the same silvery eyes as her father; she was breathtaking. Dark, raven locks from both of her parents, the girl happy and bubbly. Three months old, she was determined as all hell to keep a tight grip on Illia’s hair. She was definitely her mother’s daughter. 

“Vilkas said he wants to try for another one once she’s a year or two old.” Ria said, her gentle eyes watching her daughter play with her friend’s hair with love and pride. Ria had changed in her shape after having the girl. Her once muscular and toned figured was more soft, with wider hips and small pouch on her stomach. Still, it wouldn’t be long before her work with the Companions would thin her out once more. “I think that’s why he’s been keeping all the children around. With Lucia, now we have most of the beds in Jorrvaskr filled.”

“Darren and I can stay at the Bannered Mare.” Illia said as she sat in the nursery chair with Una in her arms. “We’ll only be staying for a day past your wedding. Do you think that Vilkas wants another girl?”

“He says he doesn’t care if the baby is a boy or a girl.” Ria said with a smile “But with how he is with Ethriel, I think he wants a son. I didn’t think he would take to fatherhood so quickly.”

“It’s exciting to see him so happy.” Illia said “He’ll make a good husband.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind.” Ria said with a smile “So this mage you’re traveling with, he’s loyal to Ulfric?”

“Darren is loyal to Skyrim.” Illia explained “He believes Skyrim should have her independence, but this is not the time for such civil unrest. Skyrim must be unified with Hammerfell, High Rock, and Cyrodiil in order to deal with the Thalmor. I believe we could even forge a treaty with Valenwood if we were to stop crossing their land. I don’t think they would join us in battle, but they would choose to stay out of the conflict.”

“They’ve always been pacifists in nature.” Ria replied “The Khajiit would probably be willing to stay out of the conflict too if we were to open trade routes with them.”

“I agree…” Illia said as she let Una grasp tightly around her pinky “The key is to cut the Thalmor off from their allies. That will win us this war.”

“But should it be the Stormcloaks or the Imperials leading it?”

“I couldn’t answer that question.” Illia said softly. “Once I thought Ulfric a warmonger and an usurper.   But he is true in his convictions, he truly wishes for Skyrim to be free from the Imperials and the Thalmor. But now is not the time. We must unite under one banner to defeat the elves.”

“But most importantly, we need to deal with the dragons. Or there won’t even be a Skyrim to fight over.” Ria remarked astutely. 

“Yes…” Illia said “And we will need the Dragonborn for that.”

 

~~~~~~~

 

 

Three days had passed and finally Vilkas and Ria’s wedding day had come. Dressing in a simple red gown with golden trim, Illia allowed her hair to fall in dark waves past her waist. Her only accessory was her mother’s Amulet of Mara. Darren remained in his all black attire, looking more and more like a vampire with each passing day. If people didn’t think he looked like a necromancer, they were to suspect as such. 

Jorrvaskr was abuzz with movement. The training yard had been cleaned and swept of supplies. Darren created an abundance of magelight for the nighttime festivities, knowing that Ria and Vilkas were keen on being married underneath the moon. The smells of baked sweet rolls and honey nut treats permeated the air along with spiced wine and smoked meats. Blue Mountain Flower along with white thunder lilies and lavender were brought into the training yard, which had magically been transformed into a romantic, nightly garden area. Everything about it was magical. While Darren continued to assist in helping Tilda and Brill set up and cook for the wedding, Illia was in the halls below Jorrvaskr, helping Ria get ready for her special day. 

Her thick, black hair was braided within flowing soft curls that fell barely past her shoulders. Her dress, a white long sleeved gown with a red skirt and golden trim, was tightly corseted and tied so that it would remain in place the entire night. 

“Illia, you said you grew up with these types of gowns?” she asked as the girl continued to braid little white flowers throughout Ria’s hair. 

“Yes.” 

“How did you ever breathe?” Ria exclaimed causing the girl to start laughing. Aela entered the room, dressed in a blue gown similar to the fashion of Illia’s. She looked extremely uncomfortable without her armor. But with the war paint washed away from her face, and her hair brushed, she was an easily seen beauty. 

“Illia, Vilkas needs you upstairs.” Aela said 

“Of course he does.” Illia muttered. “Can you finish these braids for me?” 

“I suppose.”

 

Illia made her way through the basement. Upstairs, the rest of Jorrvaskr had been cleaned and a feast had been laid out at the main table. Darren pointed her in the direction outside and she quickly entered the training yard. Vilkas looked comfortable in his red wedding clothes. The furs were in desperate need of a brushing from his fidgeting. Next to him stood another woman. She was short with pixie like features and supple lips. Her ginger hair was in soft waves that barely touched her shoulders. Her eyes caught Illia off guard; deep set and chocolate brown with long black lashes, she was stunning. Even the freckles splashed across her pale skin made her appear youthful and elegant. She was a Breton, the sharper features immediately showing her elvish heritage. But next to her was a figure that made Illia’s heart leap out of her chest. 

He had grown leaner, his body almost completely muscle. An inch or two taller than Vilkas, he was dressed in dark navy-gray robes with orange fabric underneath for a bit of color. Strapped to his brown belt was a steel sword that she was beginning to feel was from a previous life. The Breton woman next to him cleared her throat, and he turned to Illia, who was standing frozen in place. He still looked exactly the same. A chiseled jaw line that was clean shaven, the straight and narrow nose that was centered just above his softened lips. Evergreen; those evergreen eyes stared back into her frost colored irises in disbelief, as if he could hardly believe that she was still alive. 

 

Joriell couldn’t move, could hardly believe he was still breathing. She looked no different since he had last seen her. Abundant ebony hair flowing past her hips in waves that reminded him of Skyrim’s flowing rivers. Her heart shaped face seemed thinner, as if she had been starved for quite some time, but her full, pale lips remained half open in shock. Her felt like he was staring into the clearest seas as he was unable to look away from her sapphire eyes. It couldn’t be real. She had to be a dream. But every time he blinked, she was still there with more emotions than he could possibly read. 

“Illia…”

 

 

~~~~~~~

 

 

She was beautiful...more beautiful than what Gem had remembered. It was no wonder that the Dragonborn was so enamored with her. But a feeling that left Gem unsettled kept causing her chest to feel like it was caving in. The way he had looked at her...it reminded her of Brynjolf. That same gaze of lust, pain, wanting, sorrow, and joy; he had given her the same look when she had returned with Karliah. Gods, she missed him. She missed him so much that she was already beginning to suck down a pint of ale before the wedding even began. Joriell and the girl had slunk off to some room called the Underforge for some privacy so they could “talk”. Gem snorted. More like so they could fuck their brains out before returning to normal society. The mage that Illia traveled with reminded her of a walking dead man. And the way he worried when he saw Joriell and Illia sneak off together left Gem with a million and one questions that she didn’t have the answers to. Who was this mage? Why did he care so much? Wasn’t this a good thing? Or had Illia moved on and he was worried how the Dragonborn would handle it? Gods, she hoped not. If the girl had moved past him after such a short time, the Dragonborn would be shattered. And it would be her job to pick up the pieces.

 

 

 

~~~~~~

 

 

As soon as the door was closed to the Underforge, Joriell was sweeping Illia into a crushing embrace, as if he feared losing her forever. The trembling began in her hands, and she felt rage rising towards her chest. She wanted to touch him-to taste him again and to feel his skin against hers- but the memories that lingered made her skin crawl and scream at the feel of him. Even when he embraced her, she had flinched and fought the urge to cry, something he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he thought she just as overwhelmed as he was. 

“I thought I lost you forever.” he whispered finally, his breath hot in her ear, causing all the hairs on her neck and arms to stand on end. He pulled away, staring into her tear-filled eyes, seeming to be on the verge of tears as well. He rested his hands on the back of her neck, unwilling to not touch her. Illia could only stare, trying to calm her mind that was screaming for and against his touch. All of her fear and anxiety was crashing down on her, the reality of what she had been feeling for months. “Say something.”

“I-I--” she began but the words died in her throat. Instead, she only wept and rushed to his chest, ignoring the screaming feeling of fear in her skin, a wept as she held him as tightly as she could. The Dragonborn’s arms wrapped around her desperately, giving her the moment she needed. “I thought you were dead! You were laying in the road and I couldn’t--” Illia couldn’t stop the tears. Her failure had left her feeling broken and ashamed. Everything that had happened, it was because  _ she _ failed.  _ She _ had been unable to save him.  _ She _ had been unable to fight the Imperials.  _ She _ had been unable to fight the Thalmor. It was all her fault, she couldn’t escape the shame of it. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Illia.” he whispered, pulling her away so that he could look her in the eyes. “There was nothing you could have done. Neither of us were expecting that ambush.”

And then he kissed her. It was desperate, an urgency to touch her, to know that she was real. For a moment, she felt like her breath had been taken away, like they were back in High Hrothgar where they had first made love. She wanted more, needed more. The heat, the taste of honey on his lips, all of it sent her spinning.

 

 

 

_ “What shall it be today, girl?” The Thalmor captain asked her. “Shall it be the rack, branding, perhaps the bucket?” She tensed up. If he chose the rack, she would feel all her bones break for the fourth week in a row. If he chose the branding, there would be even more infected scars that would spew puss and smell foul from her skin. She hoped for the bucket. Being dunked in the water over and over again was some form of relief from the scent. Secretly, she prayed it would kill her. She had even dared herself to inhale once she was beneath the waters, to finish it once and for all. But she couldn’t. She had to believe she would get out alive, that there was a life outside of the prison. She had someone to live for. _

_ “So it seems you still won’t talk.” the Thalmor continued, his amber eyes staring through her. “Then I will put you to better use.” _

__ _ He nodded to his men, who grinned with excitement. Fear...for the first time since her capture...since Joriell had been left bleeding in the road...she felt it. She knew those smiles, those deadly grins and her stomach was in knots. One soldier, his skin was a brighter shade of gold from the rest, his white hair long and shining in the dim light. He smelled of liquor and sweat. He unshackled her, dragging her limp body to a different room.  _

 

__ _ It smelled of ginger and ale, sour and heavy. In the center of it was a table that was poorly taken care of, splintering and invested to termites. Unable to move from her wounds, she cried out as they slammed her on her belly. Her skin felt raw against the splinters as they dug into her flesh, the blood and sweat making her feel sticky. She tried to move, and was beginning to scream as she realized what was happening.  _

_ “I’ve been dying to do this for weeks now.” the silver haired soldier laughed with his fellow men. She heard his armor fall to the ground as the men forced her hand to stay put. She claw at the table, the splinters digging beneath her nails. The feeling of another person’s flesh against her made her want to vomit. _

_ “Please, stop.” she begged. For the first time since she had been captured, she begged them to stop. She would take all the beatings they could give her, just not this. He leaned across her back, the feeling of his chest and heart beat against her skin making her weep even more. His mouth was right next to her ear, his breath hot and reeking of liquor.  _

**_“Beg more for me.”_ ** _ he growled then forced his way between her legs. _

 

 

 

_ “ _ **_NO!”_ ** Illia was screaming, pushing Joriell away from her will all her might as she fell to the ground. Joriell was in shock, seeing her move so quickly away from him. She stared at him as if he was a stranger, an enemy, and he felt his heart break. Illia was shaking and crying even more than before. And her eyes, she was solely focused on the floor of the room, unable to speak another word as he approached slowly. He went to touch her shoulder, but this time she started hitting him.

“Illia, stop!” Joriell said, trying to hold her arms at bay as she began to claw and punch at him. 

“No! No! NO!” She kept screaming broken sobs, terror stricken across her face. The sound of the Underforge opening behind him made him look back. Darren and Vilkas rushed into the room. Vilkas pulled Joriell back, just as confused as he was while Darren rushed to Illia’s side.

 

“Illia, what’s your name?” he asked, trying to get as close as he could, anything to get her to realize where she was.  “Illia, tell me your name.”

 

__ _ He thrusted painfully inside her. His hands wrapped in the locks of her hair, forcing her face down onto the splintering wood as he grunted in pleasure. Illia screamed, and groaned at the feeling, fighting the urge to vomit. She tried to pull away her hands--if she could only get her hands free--but the soldiers were not going to stop him. A burning sensation formed between her legs as he continued to push himself in and out of her. _

 

 

“ **Don’t touch me!** ” she said, this time grasping a dagger that she had strapped to her hip. She lunged at Darren, hell bent on ending him. All she could see was the elf with the silver hair, the scent of his breath overwhelming her. She didn’t know the stranger in front of her. Darren held her arm at bay, the blade inches from his chest as Vilkas and Joriell quickly pulled her off of him. Darren was quickly on his feet and this time a purple light formed in the center of his palm. Placing his hand on the center of her head as she tried to fight away Joriell and Vilkas. The light entered her skin as Darren quietly chanted in a language that neither could understand. Illia calmed, her eyes falling shut as she began to collapse on the floor. Joriell caught her in his arms, making sure that she wouldn’t hit her head on the floor.

“What did you do?” Joriell asked, angry at the mage. If he had hurt her, he wasn’t going to be left standing.

“I made her sleep.” Darren answered calmly. “There was no reasoning with her, and she was becoming a danger to herself and other people. There wasn’t any choice.”

“What is happening, warlock?” Vilkas asked between clenched teeth.

“It’s...complicated.” Darren said softly, unsure of how much to reveal. “Help me get her to a bed, and I’ll explain everything.”

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

 

Illia awoke in a daze. She looked around her surroundings only to find herself in her old bed at Jorrvaskr. Beside her, Joriell sat in a chair, red-eyed and full of worry. She tried to remember what had happened, but her mind was empty. She remembered his kiss, his touch, and then...she had tried to kill Darren. Except it wasn’t Darren. He was and he wasn’t. Guilt washed over her in a flood. What was wrong with her?

“Illia…” Joriell said softly, careful with his words and keeping his distance from her “Do you know where you are right now?”

“I’m in Jorrvaskr.” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, trying to read her expression, but she was as solid as stone. She didn’t dare meet his gaze, instead she chose to wall herself off in her shame. “Illia, you-”

“Stop.” she interrupted, her tone angry. She felt so weak-willed. She had been out of control, nearly killed her friend, and pushed away the man she loved. How could he even stand to look at her? No, he deserved better. Not this screaming case of insanity. 

“Illia, I know what happened.” Joriell’s words were barely a whisper. He hadn’t even thought about what had happened to her, what the Thalmor had done. But this--this was beyond anything he could have imagined. He didn’t think someone could be so cruel; to break every bone in her body, to make her flesh burn and bleed, to r--he couldn’t even stand the thought of them defiling her. For two months, he had left her in that hell hole. He should have known better, done more; but what could he have done?

“Do you?” she asked, her voice cold

“Do you wish to speak of it?”

“Never.”

“Illia, you must-”

“I must do nothing!” Illia felt the rage build in her chest. And the pain in his eyes. His heart broke for her, and he blamed himself. She couldn’t let him see her like this, couldn’t force him to go through it any longer. She had to set him free. He had to move past her. “Leave...and do not come back.”

“What?” Joriell’s chest felt like it was collapsing. And she could see it. Could see that she was cruel and vile. She was breaking his heart….but there was no other way.  “Illia, I love you.”

“Then leave.” she spat harshly “Leave and do not look back.”

“But Illia-”

“I do not love you! I do not want you near me!” she lied “Your touch makes my skin crawl! Leave!” 

It was the final nail in the coffin. Joriell wiped away the building tears from his reddened eyes, swallowing down the shattering of his heart. His chest felt as if it were imploding. He could do nothing, but walk away. 

“You may hate me.” he said pausing in the doorway “But I could never hate you. If you should ever need me---I will always love you, Illia.” He walked away, and Illia wept, screaming into a pillow on her bed. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. Her eyes swollen and full of rage. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved better than she could offer him. Even if it killed her, she would give him nothing less.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hours later, she found herself drinking in Banner Mare. Numbness had finally washed over her with every sip of ale. She hoped she drowned in it. Next to her, soldiers had taken time out of the barracks and were drinking up their fill. She looked deadly into her mug, chugging the last of it as she called Hulda for another drink.

“So, is it true you just got back from Cyrodiil?” she overheard one of the soldiers saying.

“Yes, I was overseeing the execution of those Stormborn traitors.” the drunken soldier loudly boasted and he drank his ale, the sweet liquid splashing across his face. Rage...the familiar feeling flooded into Illia’s chest. “Those cunts deserved what they got. Of course, we had a bit of fun with the wife beforehand.”

“Fun?” the soldier questioned. 

“Let’s just say she got a taste of real men.” the drunk slurred.

 

 

Illia didn’t remember what happened after that. Instead, she found herself following the soldier in a drunken fog as he began his walk over to the barracks. Everything was red. She didn’t know where she was, or why she was there, but that man---she was irate. She was barely behind him, rain waking her a bit from her inebriated state. This man---he had been one of them. He had done those things to her mother, had laughed as she died. He was no better than the Thalmor. 

It was the Empire’s fault. If they hadn’t signed the White-Gold Concordat, hadn’t pissed away their freedom to the Thalmor; her parents would be alive. She would be normal. She would still have Joriell. They had taken  _ everything _ from her. They had taken her pride, her dignity, her love: NO MORE! This time, she was going to be the one in control. She was going to bring them to justice. 

She followed the man, catching him pissing behind an ally. He continued to hum some drunken lyrics. He reeked of mead and filth. His stench overpowered everything else. But she didn’t want to smell him. She wanted to smell blood. She crept up real close to him, and he turned.

“Well, ‘ello there sweeet, thingg.” he slurred as he exposed himself to her. “Like what you see, eh?”

She leaped on him, causing him to scream. Without another thought, she drove her dagger into his chest and he was silenced immediately. But it wasn’t enough. She continued to carve her way through his flesh, the blood soaking her dress and staining her hair. His torso began to turn to putty between her fingers as she continued to scream in hatred with every jab. The rain began to flood, washing the blood through the streets as evidence of her crime. She didn’t even care. She just wanted him dead, to feel alive again. And it felt so good.

“My, my--” A voice cooed in the shadows. Illia stood, readying her dagger for another attack. A woman emerged from the shadows, dressed head to toe in red and black armor. “Don’t be alarmed; I was merely admiring the show.”

“Who are you?” Illia slurred, her voice thick with suspicion and rage. 

“Well I was here to fulfill a contract.” she crooned, keeping her blade sheathed. “But it seems someone else has done so for me. Now, I’m simply an interested party. The better question is, who are you?”

“I’m no one.”

“Well, no one, it seems you and I have a lot in common.” the woman purred. She approached Illia, gently taking the dagger from her hands. Illia calmed, unable to push away the woman. She didn’t care what happened. “My name is Astrid. And I believe you and I are going to become one big happy family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, writing this chapter literally sent me on an emotional roller coaster. Like my heart was breaking as I wrote it. Thank for all your support. Feel free to comment. I love hearing what you guys think. :)


	18. Chapter 18

_ Three Months Later… _

 

 

She had almost forgotten what the city of Solitude looked like. The city was meant to model the city in Cyrodiil, however, it fell terribly short. The brick roads were beginning to crack. The shops were made out of cheap wood, and the people were pompous, entitled noblemen. At least they had gotten that part right

Illia watched the crowds with disdain. It was so easy for them to ignore it the chaos and corruption that was surrounding them. The red banners of the Imperials floated effortlessly in the wind, casting shadows on the city streets as if it were a looming demon with intentions of devouring its prey. Tiber Septim...the bastard had ruined her life. Not so long ago, she would have been a guest in his courtroom, speaking with his children and paying him homage and respect. Her parents would have too if he had not been some petulant milk drinker who pissed away his freedom to the Thalmor, so much so that he allowed them to hunt her down when she hadn’t been guilty of any crime except that of her bloodline. She never wished to marry Ulfric, never wished to come to Skyrim in the first place. Cyrodiil had been her home, and this capital of Skyrim was just some barren illusion that tried to model its better predecessor. 

The more she bathed in her bitterness, the more her rage came forward. Her father had basically sold her for their ‘country’ and her mother had done so right alongside him while humming a tune of wedding bells and grandchildren. Was she just some tool to be used by them? Was she even a person? Had she even mattered?

Now she would never know the answer; they were dead and she was used. Astrid, however, had given her information as to who gave permission for the Thalmor to oversee her capture. She was barely surprised to discover that the Thalmor had corresponded several times with the Emperor of Tamriel over the weeks she had been under their interrogation. He knew...he knew exactly what would happen to her, and he hadn’t cared. Now...she did care what happened to him. 

 

 

The city was in a bustle over the wedding of Vittoria Vici and Asgeir Snow-Shod. Bakers and chefs were carrying endless amounts of food to the Temple of the Eight Divines. The disputing families were less than in awe over the arrangement. But the couple seemed to be relishing in each other’s presence. The sight was perfect...exactly what Illia wanted. Just like her, she wanted this to strike the Emperor without warning. 

Astrid’s orders had been clear. Vittoria was the cousin of the Emperor and was the leverage they needed in order to draw him to Skyrim. Besides, he had taken away her family. It only made sense for her to take his. And this was just the start. It wouldn’t be long before he was at the end of her blade.

The blushing bride waved to all her guests as she made her way towards the tower.Clinging to the shadows, Illia tightened her cowl and examined the tower, and noticed that some of the bricks gave her enough space for her fingers so she could climb to the roof. There, Veezara would be waiting for their plan of attack. 

The Argonian had become a close friend since her introduction to the Dark Brotherhood. Originally a Shadow Scale, he was beyond trained in stealth. Even over the few months since she joined the Brotherhood, she had learned more from him than she had thought possible. The Companions would have never been a proponent of sneak attacks. It would have been considered cowardly. But Illia had discovered that she was naturally skilled in it. Vilkas was right, she never was meant to be a warrior: she was meant to be an assassin.

“Do you think that you can make the shot?” The Argonian asked, his voice muffled by his mask. He knew that Illia was better trained at making the shot than he was. Astrid told him that his job was to make sure that she got out safely. He had managed to sneak in through the kitchens without drawing too much attention to him. He had even managed to sneak in a bow.

“You know I can.” Illia replied dryly as she took the weapon from him. The ebony bow was heavier than the Imperial one that she had tossed aside months ago. The only thing she had kept from her days as a Companion were her daggers...and her memories.

Vittoria and Asgeir approached the balcony, and began to address their guests. Illia examined the bride’s attire. A white lace gown with red and gold embroidery. A crown of white roses and a bouquet of red ones in the other; she was the embodiment of an Imperial bride. It was disturbing. Illia’s anger flared at the thought of it.

“Get ready.” she whispered to Veezara. Their only way of escape was a zip line made of strong metal wire that Astrid had given them. From there, they would have to jump along the building until they could escape through the city walls on their horses. Luckily for them, their faces wouldn’t be seen so they wouldn’t acquire a bounty.

Illia drew back her bowstring. The silver fibers glistened in her peripheral line of sight, but her blue eyes were razor focused. Cold sweat dripped down the back of her neck. She only had one shot at this. She aimed at the base of Vittoria’s bronze throat. Holding her breath, she focus only heightened. She couldn’t even hear the birds chirping from above anymore. She drew the string farther back to her ear lobe. She’d try to make this as quick as possible. Exhaling slowly, she allowed her hand to gently relax and the string sprung. She watched as the arrow flew for only a second in the air until it collided with her target. Vittoria didn’t even have a moment to call out. The arrow knocked her off her feet, causing her to crash into the arms of her stunned bride-groom. Within seconds, the young girl had bled out.

Illia barely had time to secure her bow to her back when Veezara was pulling her towards the zip line that he had set up earlier that morning. Tossing her a small length of chain, he took his own and jumped, sliding along the wire with grace. Guards noticed him fairly quickly and began to fire, but they continued to miss. Illia jumped next, only hesitating for a moment. But this time, one of the arrows collided with her thigh. Letting go of the chain, she crashed towards the building that Veezara was standing on and fell onto a crate of boxes. She heard one of her ribs snap and her shoulder dislocate. The taste of blood was heavy in her mouth. Veezara was looking down at her with concern, looking for a way to help her.

“Go!” Illia screamed him. He obeyed with hesitation. Standing quickly, Illia started to run through the pain as the guards began to converge on her. She ducked into a nearby ally, but she was losing a lot of blood. She was going to have to hide to give herself a chance to heal. Ducking into a small gap between the two buildings, she lingered in the shadows. They stopped when they lost her around the corner.

“She couldn’t have gone far. Stretch out and find her.” The captain ordered. Illia started working fast. Using her glove, she smother the sound of her breaking the arrow as she pushed it through her thigh. It took every ounce of effort to resist crying out, so instead she settled for biting down on her bottom lip until it was swollen. She turned to her side satchel and pulled out a healing potion and quickly swallowed it down. Like magic, the wound began to heal. The bleeding stopped, but the throbbing pain was still there. She could feel her bone shift back into place, growing stronger as it melded back together. Fixed up, she grabbed her daggers and waited. Some of the guards were passing over her small space, not even thinking that someone could be small enough to hide there. Illia examined the space the guards were occupying. There was at least twelve of them, more than what she could take on by herself ,but there were scattered boxes around. If she was lucky, she could probably climb up them to get to one of the balconies. Once inside the building, it would be much easier to slip away. With her mind made up, she slowly crept out from her hiding place, ducking behind a wheel barrow.

Pushing all her strength into her legs, she sprinted. The guards called after her, but she was quicker than what they gave her credit for. They started firing at her, but missed. Jumping up the crates, she used her daggers to pierce the wood of a nearby balcony. Using all her muscles in her arms, she easily pulled herself up and sprinted into the building. Nearby patrons screamed as she shoved them out of her way. Down in the lower levels, she could hear the sounds of guards racing up the building. They barked orders at each other as they made their way up the stairs, but it was too late. Illia jumped out of another windowed balcony on the opposite side onto another building roof. She rolled on herself as she hit the opposite side, but was up quickly and sprinting in the direction of Solitude’s wall. She ran faster as arrows from the city guards rained down her path. Part of her giggled at how poorly they had been trained. No wonder assassins could sneak in so easily to weddings. In Cyrodiil, this would have been practically impossible. She leaped once more and barely managed to clasp the top of the wall. Exhausted, she pulled herself up in a heap grabbed a nearby rope that was piled in a heap in the corner. Tying it around one of the posts, she grasped onto it tightly just as the guards posted at the wall began to converge on her. They paused, holding their bows and ready to fire.

“Stop in the name of the Jarl!” one of them called out.

“Fuck the Jarl.” Illia replied dryly before leaping over the side. She clasped tightly to the rope and landed roughly on her feet. The guards fired arrows at her from the wall, but she managed to dodge them. Veezara had been smart and managed to leave her horse outside of the city gates. She jumped on, barely managing to avoid the raining arrows. With a swift kick, she was gone.  

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Joriell drank his third bottle of mead, awaiting some new order from Delphine. After he had returned from Whiterun, both he and Gem had been sent back to Riften to retrieve an archivist known as Esbern. As it turned out, the information they had found from the Thalmor Embassy led to the old Blade warrior’s friend, who she believed to be dead for quite some time. What was more was that Esbern said he had been doing research into discovering how to defeat Alduin. However, his research wasn’t quite complete. In the meantime, Joriell and Gem had spent many of their days drinking at the tavern, or doing tasks for the some the villagers around Riverwood for some extra coin.  Gem, more often than not, was doing work for the Guild. A quick trip to one of the surrounding villages, and she would be back with a sack full of items that she stored away in Delphine’s room so she could return it to the Guild later. 

“I’m not a thief, Dragonborn.” Delphine had said to him, keen on never using his name. It was so she would never gain an emotional connection to him. With the danger surrounding Alduin, his old friends were beginning to vanish in fear of the heartache of losing him. Seems that more and more people were ditching him as Illia had.

From what information he had gathered, she had simply vanished on the night of Vilkas and Ria’s wedding. The mage she had traveled with had disappeared as well, leaving Joriell alone and hollow. He wanted to hate her, wanted to be angry for what she had said, for leaving him once again; but he couldn’t. He loved her despite all of it. So instead, he had taken up the task of drinking his sorrows away until his task could be finished. But what would he do once he failed, or Alduin was defeated? Would he stay in Skyrim do deal with the war between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials? He didn’t know. The taste of blood had grown foul in his mouth; the more he tried to run from it though, the more it seemed to linger and follow. He was tired...more tired than he led on. Twenty five years old, his entire life all he had ever seen was death. His mother dead, his father dead, his friends dead; his introduction the the mainland of Skyrim had been riddled with destruction, and somehow he had barely managed to emerge from the flames. The gods must have had something in mind for him. If his path was to simply kill Alduin and disappear from history so be it. He never wanted this kind of life anyways. Any desire for a family, or a life free of waring had disappeared with a single command from Illia. 

 

Another bottle hit the wood of the table. Gem, knowing her friend too well, slid him a bottle of herbal water along with some bread to help curb the drunkenness. He hadn’t explained what had happened between him and the girl, but she had overheard the mage speaking with him and Vilkas. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. To make matters worse, the Guild had sent her letters about concerns over the Reach and Solitude that described an increasing amount of murders being conducted by the Dark Brotherhood. Karliah and Delvin feared losing clients due to Dark Brotherhood contracts. Work, work, work; that was all she ever did these days. Where was a bit of fun when you needed it? 

Behind her, the bard Sven continued to sing horribly. She had asked on more than one occasion for Delphine to fire him to which the Nord woman always replied ‘No.”. But, there was something about his tune that was sparking an idea for her. 

“That’s it!” she finally exclaimed, slapping the counter “Joriell, we’re going to Solitude.”

“Why would we do something like that?” the Dragonborn slurred “We have to remain here and await news from Delphine and Esbern about Alduin.”

“Because I’m sick of you smelling like liquor and moping all the time. It’s boring.” she said “Besides, The Burning of King Olaf Festival should be going on.” The girl was excited, jumping around the drunk Nord in circles in a fashion that made him quite dizzy. “There will be dancing and food and spiced wine; it’ll be just the thing to lift your spirits.” 

“Gem, I-” But the small Breton girl had taken his chin her hand, looking in his eyes with intention.

“I know you’re heartbroken, but you can’t spend your days like this.” she said, enunciating every word with vigor. “She pushed you away because she had to deal with her own business. It had nothing to do with you. In fact, she probably thought she was doing you a favor. I’m not saying it’s right--but that’s how it is. Either way, you’ve got to move on. So splash some cold water on that handsome mug of yours and get on your horse.”

 

What was a three days journey felt like an afternoon. For the first time in months, Joriell was beginning to feel like himself again. With Gem making him laugh throughout the night (and keeping the mead away from him), Joriell was already beginning to feel a bit lighter. When they arrived in Solitude that evening, the citizens of Solitude were already starting to celebrate. Smells of spiced wine and baked goods started to make Joriell’s mouth water with anticipation. Yet, there was still a weariness in the crowd.

“Vittoria Vicci, I can’t believe the poor girl.” a woman gossiped to her friend “I can’t believe Ulfric Stormcloak could be so cruel.”

“To be murdered on their wedding day, I wonder how the groom is holding up?”

So that was what people were believing, Gem wondered. It was no surprise. No one would ever want to admit that the Dark Brotherhood was gaining momentum once more. The daedric worshippers had been feared since their invention. People would never want to admit what was standing right in front of their faces. Brushing it aside, Gem guided Joriell through the unfamiliar streets of Solitude, taking him towards the acclaimed Bard’s College where the burning ceremony had already begun. Men and women danced in a half inebriated joy that made the Breton giddy. She loved dancing. It was something she didn’t get to do often, but when the mood struck her, it was hard to shake. She had been hoping to get a good dance, preferably with the deadly looking mage, at the Companions’ wedding, but events made that near impossible. The ceremony, however, had continued on fabulously. The bride, maintaining wide beautiful hips after giving birth, was stunning in her Hammerfell inspired gown. Although, they had made sure to maintain Imperial colors due to the Legion’s presence within the major city.

In fact, the Imperials were becoming as much as a problem for her Guild as Mercer was….cheeky little bastard. Random raids were being conducted in the Rataway when once upon a time that would have been near impossible. They never found anything (of course the Breton girl could easily outwit the Imperial nuisance), but the very fact that they were searching made Gem realize that her time away from the Guild was beginning to make them look weak. And yet...she couldn’t stand it to leave Joriell. He needed someone, someone other than Delphine who had an itch up her ass against the Thalmor. He needed someone who wasn’t as paranoid and insistent on talking about architectural structures as Esbern was. He needed, well, her. How else was he ever going to defeat the dragon threat if he didn’t have at least one person to make him smile and forget that it was even there? It wasn’t as if Gem wasn’t getting something out of the situation too. Traveling around with a tall and handsome Nord who just so happened to be owed a favor by almost anyone in the Province had its perks. And plus, she preferred her buttocks to not be extra crispy so getting rid of the dragons was also pretty helpful. 

“Spiced wine?” a woman, who was probably handsome at some point in time, offered a few goblets up to the couple with a smile that could warm the hardest of hearts.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Gem said taking both the goblets and sipping heartily from each other them. 

“So you’ll be the one getting drunk tonight?” Joriell asked with a grin. The man was always left wondering what she was going to do next. What he would do for just a moment of knowing what was going on in the head of hers. 

“Of course.” she laughed as she swallowed the last of the first goblet before continuing onto the second one. “You’ve been drunk all week.”

“Fair enough.” he said “Would you like to dance at least?” 

“There are uglier men standing about.” Gem replied examining the crowd before taking Joriell’s arm.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

The one thing that made the Dark Brotherhood feel like home was the smell of Darren’s herbal teas and incense. Choosing instead to make poisons for the ‘family’ (poisons that the Brotherhood’s original apothecary couldn’t hope to replicate) along with healing potions and other healing salves, Darren had refused to leave her side. Still the mage had not chosen to hide his feelings on the matter.

“Illia, you’re choosing to avoid your feelings. What will hunting and killing the Emperor do?” he had asked her as he watched her dress and pack her things after returning  through the window of the Bannered Mare soaked in rain, blood, and dirt. “It won’t bring your parents back and it won’t change what happened?”

“No, but it bring me peace of mind knowing that he could never harm someone the same way again.”

“Don’t act as though this is some vigilante justice, Illia. You’re lying to yourself. This is only revenge.”

“Then it will make me feel better.” she said “If you will not follow then return to Ulfric or make your own life, but do not stand in my way Darren.”

“Illia, what is this really about?” His hands had caught her shoulders as she tried to turn away,  but on instinct she pulled a dagger, nearly bringing it down upon him in the process. But she regained herself, sheathing the blade with her eyes down and full of shame. 

“I-” she couldn’t finish the words. But she had to, someone had to understand. “I almost killed you, Darren. I wasn’t myself and I was out of control. But with that soldier---I felt like myself again. Like I could do anything, like I was back in control. I can’t give that up--I won’t.”

“But you’re willing to give up Joriell?”

“He deserves someone who isn’t fucked in the head, Darren.” Illia said “I’m not the same. I like to think that none of what the Thalmor did bothered me and that I can just get over it. But...they need to pay. The Emperor slaughtered my family and there has been no justice for them, no justice for me. And unlike the other people in this region, I can’t go to the city guards for it. So I’ll do it myself.”

“This isn’t the way, Illia.”

“Nothing ever is.” 

 

After that conversation, Darren never spoke with her on the matter again. Sometimes she didn’t know how he could stand to look at her. Without much effort, she had climbed through the ranks of the Brotherhood, quickly gaining the trust of Astrid (which wasn’t saying much considering the woman was convinced that everyone was out for her position as leader)  and her husband (another werewolf. Illia wasn’t sure she could ever shake them off.) Only a matter of a few weeks now and soon the Emperor would be at the end of her blade.

Sitting down in a chair near Darren, she began the task of cleaning and sharpening her arrows. The mage seemed caught up in his own thoughts as he often was; a mystery that Illia had been spending the past several months trying to discern. Darren was quiet, never revealing too much about himself except that he was powerful. It left the girl at an unfair advantage and leaving her slightly bitter. Yet, she couldn’t stay angry for long. He had become her midnight watcher, knew how to calm her in her times of disassociation and violence. And somehow, he managed to keep her humanity somehow intact. She needed him more than she wanted to lead on. 

“So how was your morning diversion?” he asked handing her a cup that smelled of juniper berry and lemon. She greedily drank it, allowing the scents to wash over her until she was calm and focused. The scents reminded her of the mountains surrounding Markarth if those mountains could have a scent. 

“I ruined my second wedding this year.” Illia said in a half-hearted attempt to make the situation humorous. She couldn’t deny the truth for very long though. In those moments with the bow in her hand and her target at the tip of her arrow, her mind could unravel a million and one reasons why her target should die, why she had every right to do what she was doing. Her rage would blind her, saying that the ends justified the means. Vittoria didn’t deserve what had happened to her. She and her groom had deserved a long life with children and family.  If there had been another way to get the Emperor to come to Skyrim, she would have done it. But her options were limited. The facts were if a few needed to die so she could reach her goal then so be it; yet that left her uneasy and ashamed.  

Darren gave her a look, one that told her she wouldn’t be getting off that easily. He knew her too well, to a point that it was almost scary. And yet she knew so little about him and his past. She wanted to, wanted to be the friend to him that he was to her. It seemed as though she was failing on all fronts. 

“Darren, I killed a woman today who didn’t deserve death.” she said, sipping her tea bitterly. “At the end of this, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to live with myself.”

“You could always walk away.”

“And then her death would have been for nothing.” Illia replied in the same methodical tone her mind used to make everything that she was doing alright. The numbness as she had come to call it. It was the logical, analytical side of her that left her feeling empty and robotical; some sick coping mechanism her body had developed in order to suppress her guilt and shame. “If I’m not the one to do it then someone else in the Brotherhood will. The deaths will continue. At least I can assure that it’s as painless as possible.”

“Why not leave it to someone else and save yourself from the path you’re walking down?” Darren asked “If you know that the Emperor is going to get what he deserves, why not leave it at that?”

“Because if anyone is going to kill him, Darren, it will be me.” Illia replied, her tone like ice. 

It was  _ that  _ thought that made it impossible for her to walk away. She had already come to so far, had lost so much of herself to her mourning and rage. It couldn’t be for nothing. It had to mean  _ something….anything _ . 

 

 

 

 

Lillies....that was what she smelled like. The feeling of her leather armor pressed against his chest arose a need that left both Gem and Joriell confused and breathless. Gem was quiet as he held her in his arms as they danced in the crowd of townspeople. The strings and soft vocals of the bards; all of it made it so easy to melt into his arms. She hadn’t let anyone hold her so closely since Brynjolf. If they had made it to marriage, a song like the one that echoed around them would have played during their first dance. And yet here she was in the arms of another man, a man who still loved another, a man who had become her partner, a man she had come to respect, a man she had come to---no, not that. She had turned that off long ago. 

But she couldn’t deny it. It was why she had been so cold when she had first met Illia at the wedding, had felt a pang in her heart when they reunited. At the time, she would have sworn it was because she missed Brynjolf. Part of that was true, but there was that small part of her; a tiny voice that knew the truth. 

“I--I need to go.” The words escaped her lips so suddenly Joriell hadn’t even realized that she was already pulled apart from him until he had opened his eyes. Her small figure disappeared into the crowd, disappearing in the direction of the Winking Skeever. 

 

 

Inside their room, he found her sitting on the bed, stripping off her boots and cotton socks in an attempt to rush to bed. Ripping off her jacket, she tossed it across the room until she was in nothing but the tight wrappings that hid her smalls. 

“Gem-”

“I just don’t feel well, alright?” she spat “Too much wine.” 

“Gem--”

“Joriell, stop.” But he kept approaching her so much so that he was sitting next to her, unwilling to leave his spot. 

“Gem---”

“Talos be damned--”

“Tell me.”

What was there to tell? She was tired of missing Brynjolf. She was tired of mourning. She was tired of denying what she knew she felt. She was tired of this longing to be touched, to be known by another again. How would he even begin to understand? Yet, those evergreen eyes made her feel safe, like she could tell him anything. Nocturna’s tits what was she even thinking? Yet...his gaze would not shift. He felt like he was drowning in her darkened irises and could not be swayed away. Slowly, he moved his hand so it rested on her cheek and half expected her to smack him away, but instead she only sucked in a gasp of air at the sensations of his callused fingers. 

“Tell me to pull away.” he whispered in a husky voice filled with wanting and lust. She wanted to her. Every logical thought spinning in her mind told her it would be kinder in the long run. But that damn voice…

“Just kissed me, you idiot.” Their lips collided in a heated frenzy, his hands exploring more than just her cheek as she forced him onto his back and straddled him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Things have been crazy. I'm in the middle of dealing with a move, switching to a new job, and getting a new computer all at the same time. So I probably won't have another chapter up for another two weeks. Thank you all again for the support. For the dancing scene, the song RAN - VINDA Acoustic Ft. Helisir really inspired me. I encourage checking it out. :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SMUT AHEAD* ;)

    Soft rays of light entered through the spaces between the olive green curtains of the Winking Skeever. Between the tangled sheets that smelled of musk, sex, and floral oils, Joriell was blissfully sleeping away a night of release and ecstasy. Next to him, Gem remained wide awake and watching him with curiosity. He had never seemed so...peaceful. His face, covered in stubble, carried a soft and relaxed expression as though the weeks of stress had melted away after one night of passion. She wanted to touch him, to make sure it was real.  
      
    But it had been. His lips had traced down the length of her neck, biting her shoulder as he continued in his swift movements. It left her pooling in want at just the thought of it. Her pale skin felt sticky with their mess so with her light feet, she snaked out of the bed, covering herself with a robe before she retired downstairs to the bathing chamber.   
   
    The bath house was warm. Clouds of steam and rose scented blooms had warmed the stones of which the chamber had been built with. The bath, infused with some of Gem’s favorite oils, was scolding to the touch. Stripping away the thin robe that covered gentle curves, Gem entered the heated waters and sighed. Slinking into the water, she used a cloth to wipe away the dirt and grime that had accumulated on her skin. A sigh escaped her supple lips as she sank deeper into the water, feeling the days of fighting and traveling melt away.   
“Seems as though you’re having yourself a pleasant time.” a throaty voice said from the doorway. Her eyes darting wide open, she was half surprised to see Joriell watching her as he bit his bottom lip. A smile stretched across her red lips as she waved for him to come closer.  
“Care to join me?” she purred. His eyes lightened as he allowed his robes to fall and she sucked in a breath at the sight of him.   
Joriell was lean and tall, even for a Nord, but every ounce of him was muscle. His chest and abdomen was stretched to the limit with strengthened tissue which formed a perfect washboard stomach and chiseled pecks. What left her with even more yearning was the trail of hair that formed a path to her grand prize. If it weren’t for the quivering between her thighs, she would have been tempted to keep staring with lustful eyes. Flashing her a grin, he made his way over to the bath where he slowly began to enter the water. All she could think of was pouncing and having her way with him, but no...she had better plans in mind. Moving along the water, she moved herself so she was in a position straddled across his lap. Against her thigh, she could feel his hardened length brush against her, making her dizzy with want.   
“How would you feel about a little game?” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear and sending goosebumps across his skin.   
“What kind of a game?”  
“Only the best kind of game; one that tests willpower.” she mewed “The first one to cave is the loser...or the winner. Either way, you have only your pride to lose.”   
“I care little for pride.”  
“Then you should win easily.” She whispered as she gingerly licked across his ear and nibbling on his earlobe. The feeling of goosebumps spread across his skin and she felt him twitch between her legs. Oh, this is going to be fun...she thought happily as she continued her fun. Moving down from his ear, she traced her tongue down his throat as she rested her mouth just above the curve of his neck. Allowing her breath to linger above his heated skin, he shivered in anticipation for her next move. Another moment….the air was silent, making him mad with impatience before she finally satisfied his yearning by biting down and sucking the tender flesh of his neck, leaving him breathless. His grip around her waist tightened as he sucked in a breath and cursed at the euphoric feeling, but Gem was hardly finished. Releasing the grip her lips and teeth had on him, she kissed the slightly bruised flesh, maneuvering her kisses up to his jawline. His hand trailed up the length of her neck, keeping her rested from the back as her lips hovered  only a breath apart from his. Every ounce of him wanted to kiss her, to end the agony she was only beginning to build, but he wouldn’t be so weak willed. Like a grinning feline hunting her prey, Gem held back a seductive laugh as she ran her tongue across his bottom lip and bit it before quickly pulling away before he could kiss her. Joriell, frustrated and aroused, forced an annoyed laugh.  
“You think you’re the only one who can play the tempter?” he growled in a husky voice.   
    Dipping his hand into the water, he slid his hand towards her inner thigh until he found his goal. Gem practically cried out with her felt his finger enter her core. Biting her bottom lip, she grinded against him for the thrill of it before she felt another digit enter.  
“Fuck…” A groan escaped her lips making him grin as he felt her contract around him. Yet the warrior was hardly finished with her. Using his thumb, he massaged her clit in rough circle. Although he could clearly feel her growing more wet around him, she stifled another moan...so he took one of her breasts into his mouth and began to suck on her nipple without mercy. Swirling around the sensitive flesh with his tongue, he bit just enough to cause her head to fall back with a moan. And as cruel as he was, he suddenly stopped. Gem practically whimpered in protest, fighting the urge to beg him not to cease, but instead she responded by taking a firm grasp of his member. Working her hand up and down, she felt his throat beginning to vibrate as he held back a moan and fail.   
“Gods…” he moaned “No more.”  
“Do you concede?”  
“I concede.” he said punctuating the statement with his penetration. A moan of release escaped both of their lips as they relished in the feeling of the other until Joriell began to thrust in a slow pace. Lifting the tiny girl out of the water before slamming her back down onto him in a splash, Gem felt like putty in his hands. But the thief wasn’t going to just receive pleasure; in fact, she was determined to satisfy her partner as well. This time when Joriell brought her down, she bucked her hips against him, causing him to curse in pleasure. Her name escaped his lips in a curse as he slid lower into the water. Holding her firmly in place, he began to pound into her, his fingers dipping into her hips so deeply that she was sure to bruise. But she didn’t dare ask him to stop.   
“Joriell!” An orgasm sang through her body as she came around him, her walls milking him for all he was worth as he spilled his seed inside her. They stayed still for a moment, gasping for breath before Gem slunk into his arms.   
“I’m pretty sure the other patrons heard us.” she laughed as she felt his arms wrap around her waist.   
“Let them.” He quipped with a smile before meeting her eyes. “So much for getting cleaned up though, I think you’re only more of a mess now.”  
“Then we ought to actually bathe before we set back off to Riverwood.” Gem said as she slid off of his lap. “I’m sure Delphine is going to throw send a battalion of spies after us if we don’t return soon.”  
“Agreed.” he said, but he pulled her back to his lap, taking her for another kiss. He tasted like honey and sunshine if it had a flavor. Rolling his tongue, he teased and danced with her mouth as he nibbled on her bottom lip, making her even more dizzy. “But I think Delphine could stand to wait another few hours.”  
   
   
   
   
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
   
   
“I need you to do something for me.” Astrid said “You’re quiet enough as it is, so I’m sure you can keep this to yourself as well.” Illia pricked up her ears to listen. She had just been practicing her aim with her daggers when she entered her and Darren’s room with hardly even a knock. The mage seemed just as troubled as she was, knowing that anything the master had to ask of her was bound to get Illia involved in some form of trouble that would have her returning to the sanctuary covered in a mixture of blood; her own blood and whoever had gotten in her way.  “I’m having my doubts about Cicero and the Night Mother. I want to know what he’s up to.”

    Ah Cicero, now that was the most interesting individual that she had ever come across in her life. The man was out of his wits. When Illia had first learned that the Dark Brotherhood were in service to the daedric lord Sithis, she had told Astrid that she wasn’t the least bit interested in their god of death. In Illia’s mind, that domain belonged to Arkay. As such, she had made it clear to Astrid that she would follow the Five Tenants of the Brotherhood, but would not participate in any rituals in worship to their ‘god’. Even the Night Mother, the bride of Sithis who had drowned five of her children in his name, was given holy treatment as a martyr although it was clear that a majority of the Brotherhood gave her little regard. Cicero was the biggest perpetrator of the worship of the female corpse, attending to her rotting body as if she were the savior of Tamriel.   
    Although she had been told that Cicero was one of the deadliest assassins that the guild had to offer, he seemed harmless. Most of their conversations had been civil, the man treating her with more respect and fair treatment than the rest of the Brotherhood. If Astrid thought he was up to something, she was more paranoid than Illia gave her credit for.    
“My husband has told me that the others have heard him talking to someone in the Night Mother’s chamber. I need you to find out who.” Astrid went on to explain “You need to hide yourself in the Night Mother’s coffin and spy on him for me.”  
    Illia nodded, not pleased at the idea of being in an enclosed space with a corpse. But she owed Astrid one. If it wasn’t for her, she wouldn’t be able to get to the Emperor. If being in a coffin with a corpse could pay her back then she was going to do it.

    Later that afternoon, Illia seized her opportunity. Cicero was discussing something with Astrid. From what she could tell, things were getting fairly heated. Ignoring it, she moved swiftly and entered Cicero’s room. The place was fairly unkempt, with journals all over the place, none of which she bothered to read. But in the very center of the room was the Night Mother's coffin. The casket was made with strong, sturdy metal that was riddled with wear and tear. At the very top of it was a etching dedicated to the Night Mother and Sithis. Opening the coffin door, the Night Mother was a dried out mummy. Her leathery, cold skin had turned gray from the decay. She was wrapped in tattered purple and black linens that had obviously not been changed since she had been put in the thing. Illia shuddered. Swallowing down her disgust, she entered the dark space and shut the door. She tried her best to avoid touching the Night Mother's cold skin.

A few moments later and she could hear the door creak open and Cicero entered the room. She could have sworn he was alone, but she remained quiet.  
“Are we alone? Yes...yes. Sweet Solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us.” he began in his high pitched voice. “Everything is going according to plan.”  
Illia’s ears perked. Maybe Astrid wasn’t as paranoid as she thought she was. She tried to listen for the other person’s voice, but there was just silence.  
“The others...I’ve spoken to them. And they’re coming around, I know it.” he began “ The wizard, Festus Krex...perhaps even the Argonian and the unchild….the vengeful one and her pet mage….surely they will come around too.”  
The Argonian? Was her friend behind this too? Just how many of them was this madman turning against Astrid?  
“What about you? Have you...have you spoken to anyone? No...no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing, and the saying!” Cicero was growing more angry. “ And what do you do? Nothing! Not...not that I’m angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Heh...Cicero always understands and obeys.”  
Illia sighed in frustration. Here she was in the coffin with a corpse that some mad jester was whispering too. Did Astrid truly believe that this lunatic was possible of anything? If she was so worried, she should just kill him and be done with it. Now she was stuck waiting until he left the room (and gods knew how long that would take) so she could sneak out without gaining his rage. Her next step would be to take a bath to get the stench of death off of her skin before she returned to Astrid.   
“You will talk when you’re ready, won’t you? Won’t you? Won’t you…” he continued “...Sweet Night Mother.”  
“Poor Cicero, dear Cicero. Such a humble servant, but he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener.” an echo of a woman’s voice deafened Illia’s ears. Her skin crawled and she turned in the coffin to face the Night Mother. Cicero was only trying to speak to her. She didn’t think it was even real. The Night Mother was talking to her. “Oh but I will speak...I will speak to you . For you are the one I’ve been waiting for. One with a heart filled with bloodlust and anger. You will hear my voice, Illia Stormborn. Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. Tell Cicero, the time had come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for all these years, “Darkness rises when silence dies.”

    Illia jumped out of the coffin, falling flat on her rear with a cry. She crawled away from the Night Mother. Cicero became irate. The jester pounced on her, holding a blade to her throat.  
“You!!! You have desecrated the Night Mother’s coffin!” he cried out in disgust “Explain yourself! Speak!”  
“She spoke to me!” Illia cried out, completely ignoring the jester on top of her.  
“The Night Mother speaks to no one! You lie to Cicero!”  
“No, she told me to tell you.” Illia tried to remember the words the Night Mother had used “Darkness rises when silence dies!”  
    Cicero stiffened on top of her. His brown eyes widened in shock and he dropped his blade. He slowly rose and helped Illia to her feet. And in an instant, his entire demeanor changed. He began to clap and dance.  
“Then the day has finally come!” Cicero chanted in a whirl of happiness “The Night Mother had chosen the Listener! And Cicero has completed his goal! Cicero has not failed!”  
“What’s going on?” Astrid said. She entered the room armed and ready to fight. Darren followed quickly behind her, his magic armed if he needed to defend his charge. But Cicero was too caught up in his excitement to notice them. He continued to sing praises to the Night Mother. Astrid turned towards Illia and examined her to make sure that she was unarmed. “Who are you plotting with Cicero? I am the leader of this family.”  
“Oh, bollocks and befuddle!” he replied “The Night Mother is the true mother of your family, of our family. You are simply an instrument of her rule. And she...she has finally chosen to speak...Sweet Mother!”  
“What is he talking about?” Astrid asked, not sheathing her blade  
“Her! She is the Listener!” Cicero clapped and pointed “The Night Mother has chosen her.”  
“Is this true?” Astrid asked  
“She spoke to me. That’s all I know.” Illia said   
“Then it is true…” Astrid’s face was unreadable. Her mind was racing and she was trying to gather her thoughts. “...it only makes sense with how quiet you are.”

    Illia laughed, but a tension built in her stomach. Darren stared at her with concern, knowing full well the danger that she had just placed herself in. Illia wasn’t stupid; Astrid was petrified that someone was going to take her power and control. It was why she feared the appearance of Cicero and the Night Mother in the first place. Now Illia had been named ‘The Listener’ by some corpse that she had deemed as a falsehood. No doubt, instead of Cicero and the Night Mother, she was now the biggest threat to Astrid rule. With a single look, she knew Darren would tell her to leave, to abandon this foolish quest for vengeance. But she couldn’t...not now--not when she was so close. She had to finish this, or it would have all been for nothing.   
   
    Despite all the pain she carried, none hurt worse than pushing Joriell away. She knew she still loved him, would do anything for him; she cared so much for him that she pushed him away if it meant that he would find happiness. She had to take the Emperor’s life. If she didn’t, she didn’t believe that she would ever be able to gain control over herself again. It was just the beginning steps in moving past it. If she ever wanted Joriell again, if she ever wanted to feel like herself, to not flinch at another’s touch; she had to take back control of her life. She had to do it by ending another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, I feel like the last chapter I was a little lazy and didn't want to go into smutty detail but this one...I wanted to have some fun. It's only the second smut scene I've ever written, but I think it turned out a lot better than the first one. I guess you just have to get into it??? Maybe...I don't know. Anyways I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave comments. I love hearing what you guys think :D Thanks for all the support.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so as I was writing this, I realized I made an error in my previous chapter (I think it was chapter 13) regarding how old Darren was. I was playing through the story line again and realized that the Wolf Queen reigned over 500 years before the Dragonborn entered Skyrim. With that in mind, I will be going back to that chapter to fix some things. Please don't give me too much shit, I'm horrible at time lines. I google and google and then eventually guess and then some shit happens.

“May I share something with you?” Darren asked. He had been quiet for quite some time, his eyes skimming the words of old pages of history that Cicero had given him which explained the role of the Listener within the Brotherhood. It wasn’t as though he needed too much information. From his traveling throughout Tamriel, Darren had learned much about the Brotherhood although most of it only came from rumor. Surprisingly, truth always found itself to be weaved throughout fiction. Meanwhile, Illia had remained lounging about in her shrouded armor, her long, willowy legs stretched across the bed as she practiced tossing daggers at the target that was on the opposite wall. 

She and Darren had been sharing a room for several weeks with Darren preferring just the two of them due to Illia’s nightmares and panic attacks that caused her to awake screaming. None of the other assassins had caught on to her little secret due to Darren’s adept skills in calming her through the use of questions and sometimes magic if it was necessary. Within the dank, stone chamber, there was a single bed which Darren had given to Illia in exchange for a cot. Besides a water basin for the general upkeep on their hygiene, there was an apothecary table that Darren specifically used for making his herbal teas. “Wouldn’t want to mix Deathbell with lavender, now would you?” He would often quip.  It had become their secret cove, a getaway from the constant reminders of death that encircled them throughout the Sanctuary. 

“Tell me whatever you wish.” Illia replied, throwing her dagger so that it landed in the precise center of the target.

“It is not something that I can tell you.” Darren replied walking over to the bed. “It’s something that I can only show you.” Illia raised a questioning brow with an evil grin causing the mage to laugh. “Not that sort of thing. Will you follow me?”

“Of course.”

 

 

Sometime later throughout the night, they were several miles away from Falkreath along the border of Whiterun Hold. Endless groves of pines surrounded them as Darren led her to the top of a hillside, barren of prying eyes. In the distance, the lake that formed the source of the rivers that flowed through Skyrim’s regions was glistening in the moonlight; a seemingly dark blanket that had been dusted with glitter and diamonds. The cool air from approaching autumn kept Illia clinging tightly to her fur cloak. It was strange to be in her old armor again (one could not go around prancing in Dark Brotherhood Shrouded Armor, knowing full well that everyone in Skyrim was looking for anyone who wore the badge with pride). The metal and leather still fit her almost perfectly, although she was forced to tighten the strings in just the smallest of ways. Darren, dressed in his usual black attire, seemed immune to the effects of the chill. Sitting down to admire the view, Illia joined him while sitting cross legged.   

“It’s beautiful out here.” Illia noted “Are you sure you’re not trying to court me?”

“Trust me, my lady, if I was trying to court you, it would be more awkward and less beautiful.” he replied. There was silence for a moment and in the darkness, she could barely read out the features of his face. His expression was thoughtful, contemplating the words he would speak and the manner in which he would speak them. It was something that Illia admired about him. Darren was careful with his words, never choosing to speak rashly. When he gave you an answer about something, you knew that he meant it and that it hadn’t been taken lightly. 

“Do you trust me, Illia?”

“Of course.” The girl replied with a smile “I would hardly allow you to take me to the middle of nowhere before the sun rises unless I trusted you.” Darren smiled, straightening his posture so that he was sitting in a similar matter as she was and facing her head on. Stretching out his long finger, he beckoned for Illia to intertwine her hands with his. With perhaps the smallest amount of hesitation, she placed her palms in his. He was cold to the touch. His hands, although smooth, felt dry and well worked. 

“What I am about to show you must not be breathed to anyone.” he said, his voice serious and thick with anxiety. “In truth, I was hesitant to share these burdens with you. You see, I have not shared them with anyone.”

“Darren, are you-”

“I have no choice but to show you this, Illia.” he interrupted, determined to finish it out. “I fear you shall continue down your path if I don’t. The things I will show you are memories. Remember that none of it can harm you. Do you understand?”

“Yes…” Illia replied although her heart had begun to beat against her chest like a drum. The mage exhaled slowly with olive green light escaping his fingertips. The streams of light encircled Illia’s arms, yet she remained still. Opening his eyes, Illia gasped at the sight of  Darren’s lilac colored eyes changing to streams of light as the beams began to web around her throat until they finally entered her eyes. She gasped, the sight of the hill and lake vanishing within a fog that left her dizzy and stifled of air. 

 

 

 

An arm reached for her through the void, helping her to stand. Illia opened her eyes, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the memory Darren had taken her conscious into. The floors were made of some wet, and molding woods that smelled musty and humid. Through the walls, she could hear the sounds of rats. The air reeked of death, smelling of urine and shit and body odor. It made the girl gag. Beside her, Darren’s face was cemented in a grimace, obviously in some discomfort, but not enough to leave him paralyzed. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he dusted the dirt off of her clothes. 

“I’m fine.” she insisted, confused as to where they were. “This is one of your memories?”

“Yes.”

“Then are you seeing this as you or-”

“We are watchful observers.” Darren said simply, cutting any other questions she had short. “Follow me.” Taking her hand, he guided her up the stairs until they entered what looked like the Blue Palace except it looked older. The soldiers were wearing what looked like Imperial armor, but it was in an older fashion with bronze chainmail instead of steel. The banners that Illia had grown accustomed to seeing with the Legionnaires were hanging throughout the halls, yet many of them were torn, or the wolf crest had changed in its appearance. Feeling uneasy, Illia held tighter to Darren’s hand in the dream world until they finally entered the main hall of the Blue Palace. 

Sitting on the throne was a woman with long ginger curls that were frizzy from the humidity in the air. Despite the fact that she was clearly sweating from the heat, the jarlessa was dressed in heavy furs and a thick purple gown that left her swimming fabric. Yet, it was here eyes that sent a chill of terror down Illia’s spine. The color of amethyst, the woman’s eyes glowed like that of a vampire, vile and cruel. Her gaunt features made her appear sickly, the silver ring on her finger barely clinging to her finger. 

“Darren, can she hear us?” Illia whispered, fearful that she would catch the queen’s attention.

“No.”

“This isn’t right.” the girl continued “You say this is a memory, but the Blue Palace looks ancient. Who is this woman, Darren?”

“Her name is Potema Septim, daughter of Pelagius Septim the II, Queen of Solitude.” Darren said, his gaze never breaking from the cruel look of Potema. “The people of Solitude, however, prefer to call her by the title of the Wolf Queen...I knew her as my mother.”

 

Before Illia could speak another word, the sounds of chains echoed throughout halls of the empty palace. Her blue eyes darting to the staircase, Illia watched in horror as two soldiers led the limp body of a seventeen year old Darren to the center of the throne room. Stripped down to only ragged trousers, the boy was thin and fragile. Scars trailed up the length of his body, telling a brutal tale that nearly caused Illia to weep. Instead she laced her fingers even more with Darren’s, his features showing appreciation for the comfort. The younger version of the mage was drenched in sweat and grime, his hair falling past his ears with a patchy beard growing across his face. However, what caught Illia’s attention was the fact that his normally lilac colored irises were the deepest shade of chocolate brown. He stared up at Potema, yet let his head fall as he was unwilling to meet her eyes.

“Too ashamed to meet your mother’s eyes?” Potema questioned, her voice laced with anger. Still Darren refused to speak or to look at her. She nodded to one of the guards that had dragged the boy in. Without hesitation, the soldier forced Darren onto his knees and held his face roughly to the point that it would bruise so that the adolescent was forced to look the woman in the eyes. “You will answer me, Darren.”

“I am ashamed of the monster that my mother has become.” the boy said. A crack echoed in the room as Potema harshly slapped the boy for his insolence. Returning to her seat, she motioned for another guard to approach. This time, four men followed him, all soldiers who appeared to be ill with some sort of plague. The boy’s eyes were filled with mercy, knowing full well that he could easily heal them if Potema allowed it. However, she had different plans in mind. The soldiers all lined up in front of Potema as the other guard unsheathed a blade. One by one, the guard slit the throats of the diseased soldiers, their bodies collapsing in heaps on the floor in front of the boy. Darren clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to watch the soldiers willingly give up their lives for Potema’s cause. Their blood soaked the floor, staining Darren’s trousers crimson in the process. 

“Now...you know what to do.” Potema said.

“I won’t.”

“Do not force my hand, mage.” The queen growled in a voice that was not her own. Illia’s hairs stood on end as she realized that woman was possessed by some sort of spirit. “You will perform the spell.”

“I will not.” Darren’s eyes were ablaze with rebellion. Whatever the woman was demanding of him, he would not give it to her. On que, the soldiers began to beat the boy, his blood mixing with that of the soldiers. They stretched out his leg so it was perfectly straight and at an angle on the floor. With the two soldiers hold the struggling teenager in place, the third that had killed his fellow men came over and forced on all his weight on the boy’s leg until the brutal sound of his femur snapping exploded in the halls along with the sounds of his screaming. 

Illia hadn’t realized that she had been crying until she realized she was struggling to breathe. To the observing Darren’s surprise, she took his arm with her other hand, holding it tightly. Darren gently placed his other hand on top of hers, continuing to watch the memory with hazy eyes.  

The soldiers continued in their torment, taking the young mage by his hair and driving their blades along his skin until Potema motioned for them to halt in their endeavors. The boy was bloody and broken, unable to move or take another beating, or risk harm he wouldn’t be able to heal himself of later. With his hands bound, there was little he could do to defend himself. But more than that, he feared harming Potema. He wanted to find a way to remove the demon inside her, but he worried what damage she would cause in the meantime. However, this time he would submit. Telling the guards to undo his chains, young Darren began his work. An orb of black light escaped his fingertips, forming into a cloud of ebony colored smoke that began to cloud the dead soldiers. The smell of death and blood was completely shrouded by the smell of incense some floral scent that Illia couldn’t identify. Illia tried to see through the shroud of smoke only to see the once dead soldiers were once again standing as draugrs. The scene began to fade away before Illia’s eyes, leaving both she and Darren in a void of darkness where they could only see each other. 

“You were a necromancer…” Illia said, her tone free of judgement.

“I am a necromancer.” Darren corrected, although not unkindly. “Once the art is learned, it cannot be forgotten.”

“The legends always said Potema was the necromancer, that she had dabbled in the forbidden magics so she could have her army of the dead.” 

“A falsehood she proclaimed in order to protect her source of power.” Darren explained “Although Potema knew magic and engaged in some of the blood rituals in order to enhance her power, she did not possess the power necessary to raise such an army.”

“But you did?”

“My powers were volatile. Even now, I must maintain complete focus when casting, or the destruction could be beyond comprehension.” Darren continued, his tone matter-of-fact with little pride. “My father was not the king of Solitude. I was the product from an affair between Potema and a man by the name of Blackwater. He was a mage from the Psijic Order; I even studied under him for a time. But when I received news of my brother Uriel’s death and Potema’s madness, I left the Order to return home.”

Darren appeared tired, the underpart of his eyes gray from the memory. It was strange seeing his darkened past being so laid out and vulnerable. He seemed weary from the passing ages. Illia reached out and touched his cheek on instinct which seemed to surprise the mage as well. 

“I’m so sorry, Darren.” she said “That should have never happened to you. But how are you even here? The Wolf Queen reigned over five hundred years ago.”

“Well…” Darren said, taking her hand away from his cheek, but not releasing it “That’s a bit more complicated.” 

 

From the darkness, they emerged in a new scene. Instead of the throne room, Illia and Darren found themselves in the center of banquet hall. Still, the intense humidity and heat of the palace remained. Candlelight flickered throughout the hall, some of the wicks dying out so that the image was even darker. Barely a whisper in her ears, Illia could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the room. Darren entered the banquet hall with an elven girl following closely behind. The mage was obviously older, the same age as he was now, except all the wounds on his skin had disappeared. His eyes were the shade of purple that Illia had come to know and favor. The elven girl that followed behind him was extremely pretty with long, white hair that fell in soft waves to the center of her back. Her mocha skin was dirty from working within the palace and she was dressed in similar rags. 

“I had almost forgotten what she looked like.” Darren said quietly 

“Who was she?”

“Iyarah…” he continued quietly with a hidden longing “We had grown up together in the palace. I--I had a fondness for her, I suppose. She tried to help me cure Potema of her madness. It failed, and I became as I am now because of it.”

“What happened?” 

“The ring my mother wore was infused with a soul gem that carried the spirit of a werewolf that had lost its mind  from its entrapment. The gem was not strong enough to contain its soul and thus it began to influence and drive Potema mad.” Darren continued as he remember what had occurred so long ago. “I thought that if I removed the werewolf from the gem that I could save my mother without harming her. But in the process, I ended up freeing the wolf from its cage and it fully consumed her. There was no saving my mother after that.”

“And you?”

“I was foolish, Illia.” Darren lamented “ I knew I was powerful, but I had no idea how to control my magic, had no clue how the enchantments we use worked. I ended up trapping part of my soul inside the same gem that the wolf had gone mad in. My mortal body passed away long ago, but I am nothing more than a specter among the living. I cannot die.”

“And if someone were to use your soul gem?”

“I would be sent to the Soul Cairn to roam with the other lost souls in a vile wasteland where there is no peace.” he continued as he watched the scene begin to unfold “At least in Skyrim, I have a view.”

 

Darren urged Iyarah to follow him, rushing her to the kitchens so they could exit away from the guards, that was until all the doors suddenly slammed shut. In front of them, Potema had become fully possessed by the soul of the werewolf. Her eyes so bright that the features of her face could barely be made out, she spoke in an irate, hungered growl.

“I’m not finished with you, cur.” 

“Potema, stop this madness!” Darren begged. He was desperate. His attempt to cure his mother had failed and he knew that there was only one way to end the nightmare that she had created. He just wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to do it.  Potema had other plans in mind. Using her magic, she blasted him so he was smashed against the wall. With another wave of Potema’s hand, Iyarah was crashed against the opposite wall, falling unconscious on the floor. Darren returned quickly to his feet, using his magic to cause Potema to fall onto her back, but the Wolf Queen remained standing. Another flick of her wrist, Darren found himself on the other side of the room, candelabras falling on him as he crashed onto the stone below him. He couldn’t even feel the fire burning through his skin. Leaping over the tables, Potema seized him by his throat, keeping him suspended with one arm as she readied a spell with another. A shining, white bolt of lightning formed in the palm of her hand and she placed it directly on Darren’s chest. A brutal scream escaped his lips, causing Illia to almost reach out to him, but Darren, the real Darren, held her back. 

“We can’t change what happened, Illia.” was all he said as he continued to watch the battle between himself and his mother.  Illia stopped, watching in the horror of what was unfolding. Letting her hands fall to her side, she stayed by Darren’s side, forcing herself to not intervene. 

 

The boy collapsed onto the floor in a heap, and Potema reached for his hair to lift him up once more but this time the mage fought back. With a wave of his hand, Potema flew across the room, destroying several tables and chairs as she landed. Darren stood, his body severely hurt, but his adrenaline made it impossible to stop moving.

“I don’t want to do this, mother!” he called out once more. But the Wolf Queen sat up in a stalking position, ready to pounce.

“I thought you were going to kill me, boy.” The familiar growl of the wolf escaped from his mother’s curled lips. A bloody curdling scream echoed throughout the hall as Potema used the table as leverage to once again attack the young mage. Narrowly avoiding the attack, Darren fell to the ground, rolling underneath the table as Potema tried to attack with a blade of flames. The fire licked at the tables, beginning to set the wood and tapestry ablaze as he continued to duck and weave to avoid blows. The blade collided against his arms, but this time Darren managed to pull up a ward, protecting himself from harm. The wolf snarled at his act of defiance and attempted to bring down the ward with an electricity rune. However, Darren defended with an ash spell that clouded the Wolf Queen’s vision and helped him to vanish for a moment of respite. 

The mage was leaning against the wall in view of Illia and the older version of himself. The young boy was out of breath and exhausted. It was clear that he was trying to sustain his mana in order to continue on in the battle. Yet his fear kept him paralyzed, unable to wield his new magic to its peak.

“Darren, I’ve seen you conjure spells fifty times more powerful than this without even breaking a sweat.” Illia said, watching the young boy struggle to regain himself. “Why are you so weak?”

“You forget Illia, I was in captivity for three years.” Darren corrected gently “I hadn’t used my spells in years and had no idea the amount of power that was available for me to draw upon. And...I didn’t want to kill Potema.” 

The smoke dispersed around the mage as Potema went for another attack, this time she sank her teeth into Darren’s throat, her canines sharp from some warping magic. Blood gushed like a fountain from the base of Darren’s throat and shoulder, causing him to fall to his knees. Muttering some other magic, Potema swiped at the boy with some type of invisible claws. Darren was bleeding out and quickly, yet he wasn’t fearful. His knees unsteady, he stood, casting a ball of flames so great that the entire room because to burn. Potema’s clothes turned to rags as she cut away the burning fabric that was licking at her skin. Raising her hands to the ceiling, Darren felt the room shake as the chandeliers began to collapse onto the floor. Glass shattered in pieces along the stone, making Darren’s bare feet bleed as they pierced his skin. He looked over to Iyarah, making sure that she was safe from harm, and then focused his attention back to his mother who was readying herself for another attack.

“No more!” Electricity flew from Darren’s fingertips in a frenzy. The lightning struck Potema causing her to scream in agony as she seized in agony. Illia expected the spell to stop, but Darren did not cease. The air around him began to spin, the electricity growing more volatile as his rage grew. The flames that had began to burn around them ,filling the room with smoke, changed to a vibrant shade of blue as the young mage took control of every element in the room. The winds began to affect not even the memory, but even Darren and Illia.

“Darren, you must stop this!” Illia shouted above the roar of the winds. Her hair was like whip, slashing across her face as the air began to form a sphere to trap the Wolf Queen. Darren was dazed as he watched the memory, gripping tighter to the girl next to me as the inevitable began to unfold before his eyes.

“We can’t change the past, Illia.” Darren said, his dazed eyes turning towards her. “Do you trust me?”  Illia was terrified. She wanted to run, to return back to the hill where she knew her conscious body was, but Darren had brought her there for a reason. She took his hand once more then returned to watching Darren despite her fear. 

 

The air around Potema constricted, making it nearly impossible for her to scream. Joining the lightning in its assault, the blue flames that had turned hellish and destructive attacked the woman as well. Melting away her flesh and hair, Potema appeared like a draugr as she morphed into a bloody heap.

“You would do this to your own mother!?!” Potema’s voice had changed from the demon voice of the wolf, causing tears to fall down the young mage’s cheeks. But he continued, unwilling to allow her to continue further. Forcing more of his will into the magic, Illia was stunned to watch as the scars and cuts that had ailed him previously begin to fade away and appear on Potema instead. The woman, if that’s what you could still call her, continued to seize and cough blood until her limbs began to melt away into piles of ash. Slowly, the ashes engulfed her entire body until nothing was left. Darren screamed, his magic not fading but instead growing more destructive and out of control in his sorrow. The palace began to tremble, the bricks falling from the ceiling and collapsing around them. Illia screamed as she watched a wall of bricks begin to collapse on her and Darren, but she felt a thin, but secure pair of arms surrounding her. A blue orb ward surrounded them, protecting them from the falling debris. Within moments, the scene vanished and Illia awoke in the grove.

 

The girl gasped for air, the cold breeze assaulting her lungs as she awoke from her trance. She heard another breath, Darren awaking and gasping for breath. She reached for him, her hands cupping his face in disbelief that it was real. Although they were just memories, her friend had really done all of it. He had been captured and tortured by his mother until he was forced to kill her himself. She couldn’t imagine it. Tears ran down her face which the mage gently wiped away. His eyes, although filled with regret, were still kind as they ever were.

“Do not weep for me, Illia.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Do not be.” Darren replied, comforting the girl as best he could. “Potema’s fate was sealed when she sought the throne from my cousin. No one within the Septim dynasty would have allowed her to rule. Everyone knew that my brother would have been her puppet.”

“She shouldn’t have done that you. You tried-”

“And I failed.” he continued, taking her hands from his face but still holding them. “I learned from my mistakes and I learned control, and I learned forgiveness. I nearly destroyed the Blue Palace, nearly killed my friend in the process. What I endured should have killed me, but it didn’t. I showed you this because I want the same for you.”

His thumb stroked the top of her palm, sending shivers down her spine. She remained perfectly still, her heart pounding not out of fear. She shoved the feeling down, unwilling to allow it to continue further. Still, the feeling of someone touching again...the feeling of being able to reconnect without fear. She didn’t know why it was so easy with him, why the trembling had stopped because of his presence, why his touch didn’t send her spiraling; but she couldn’t let herself keep thinking in such a manner. 

“Why are you still here, Darren?” Illia spat, trying to push him away. But it was so hard because deep down, she didn’t want to. “I know you look at my actions with disdain. I go against every one of your principles. Why are you here?”

“Because I see beyond how you’ve allowed your pain to consume you.” Darren replied, turning her head so she was forced to look him in the eyes. “I see how your tragedy happened and I see it was because you chose to protect the person you loved. I saw how it didn’t stop you from defending a little girl and an old man from soldiers that didn’t give a damn about them even though you were supposed to remain in hiding. You face your fears, Illia. You do not run and the path that you are on will keep you running. And you will lose who you are in the process.”

“What are you asking of me?”

“Leave the Brotherhood.” Darren said “Leave with me tonight. Turn back now before you go any farther.”

“Darren, I-” She wanted to, more than anything. Although she tried to hide it, the killing was losing the thrill, leaving her only more cold and empty. She didn’t feel alive anymore. But if she left now, she would add another party she was running from. The Brotherhood would hunt her down, the Imperial and the Thalmor would continue to search for her, and Ulfric would never leave his pursuit. If she finished this path, if she faced the Emperor, she could remove the Imperial threat; she could remove the threat of the Brotherhood and the Thalmor. All it would leave her with was Ulfric, and surely she could avoid him. As much as she hated everything she was doing, she had to continue. Darren was right, she couldn’t run any longer; so instead she was going to face it.

“I’m sorry, Darren.” she replied, tears welling in her eyes for fear of what her saying would mean for their friendship. “But I can’t. I can’t leave yet.” 

The hope in Darren’s eyes fell and for a moment, he looked as though he would weep for her as well. Instead, he stood, and helped her to her feet. Quietly, he guided her back to the Sanctuary, saying nothing more as they journeyed throughout the night until Illia could take it no longer.

“Will you leave me?” she finally asked as they stood outside the door. She stared at the ground, avoiding his eyes with all her might. But his hand gently touched her chin, bringing her back to face him once more.

“Do not hide yourself from me.” he said gently, his voice as calming as the sea. “I said I would not leave you, and I shall not.” Gently pulling her chin down, he pulled her closer to him, causing all her muscles to tense. Lightly, he brushed his lips across her forehead, reassuring her that he would not abandon her. Illia clung to him tightly, her arms like ropes around him as she wept. So he stroked her hair, comforting her until they eventually retreated within the Sanctuary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was extremely fun for me to write. It has been interesting getting back into the swing of fighting chapters with a lot of blood and gore (and trust me, there is about to be a lot more. ) I'm curious as to what your guy's thoughts are on the way relationships are progressing in this story (it's not going to change the final outcome, but my curiosity gets the better of me sometimes) so please leave me some comments down below. As always, thank you guys so much for your support, I wouldn't be able to do any of this without you :)


	21. Chapter 21

“We’ve found something.” Delphine spoke with a determination in her eye that the couple had not seen in quite some time. “We leave tonight.” Esbern stood with her with warm eyes, but when he turned to face Joriell, he remained firmly in check. 

“Care to inform us about what you found before you take us on some wild goose chase?” Joriell replied, his good humor restored after weeks of drinking and heartache.  Gem grinned as she looked at him, but maintained her composure. 

“Sky Haven Temple.” Esbern explained “Long before us, the ancient Blades had a stronghold within Skyrim. Within it, there is said to be Alduin’s Wall, a mural depicting the fall of the beast. It is there we may find answers as to how the Nords of old had defeated Alduin.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Gem asked “Obviously, if it had worked before, Alduin wouldn’t be a threat to us now. How can we trust this?” 

“She has a point.” Joriell replied

“Even if this cannot truly defeat Alduin, it may be enough to stall for more time. We’ve had centuries before the dragon war. Stall Alduin, and it gives us more time hunt more of his kin so when he returns, he has no army.” Esbern countered. “Now according to my research, the temple should be located within the mountains of the reach.”

“I know that pass.” Joriell replied “It’s crawling with Forsworn.”

“True enough, which is why we’re going to be in need of help.” Delphine replied “I know it may be too hopeful, but could the Companions perhaps be of use.”

“Doubtful.” Joriell replied “Vilkas has been  consumed with training the children. With the threat of Ulfric around the corner, I doubt he’ll be inclined on leaving them unprotected anytime soon. What about the Guild?”

“Trust me, you don’t want a bunch of thieves running around some sort of ancient, secret temple.” Gem replied “I love my men, but I also know their nature.”

“Surely, you have other allies.” Esbern was exacerbated. The Dragonborn without allies! Who had ever heard of such a thing. “What of the dark mage and rogue girl that you were traveling with before us?”

“Illia?” Joriell was disturbed at the thought. If anyone was capable of helping them, Illia was it. And the mage she was traveling with seemed skilled beyond his years. But he had heard nothing of her in the past four months that had passed. She could have abandoned Skyrim all together, but part of him doubted that. And she would help them. If Illia was one thing, it was loyal even to a fault. They may not have been romantically involved anymore, but she wouldn’t abandon him on his quest. “It would take some resources to find her. I haven’t the slightest idea where she would be. But if she were to be found, I have no doubt that she would be inclined to help us.” 

“Perhaps the Guild could come in handy there.” Gem replied “I’ll speak with Maven Blackbriar. If anyone would know where some lone little rogue would be, it’s her.”

  
  


~~~~~~~~~

 

The softest gust of wind shuffled the dark brown curls that emerged from the edges of his silver helmet. Frost colored eyes drank in the view as they narrowed their focus back to the soldier who was walking through the streets of Morthal. Illia had decided that if she was going to kill him in one of the major cities, it would be one not too far from home. Since her time on the hillside with Darren, she had been managing to sleep more, to not fall back into horrifying memories that haunted her. There was something in knowing that someone else could understand her anger and frustrations that provided the young girl with comfort. And thus, she never wanted to stray too long from the mage. Amidst the chaos and slaughter that had become her life with Brotherhood, Darren had been the tether that anchored her back to reality. But with that came the feelings that she had fought for so long to hide. Guilt...that was the worst one of them all.

She had done so much wrong since she left Whiterun. How many innocent people had been killed because of her? Vittoria Vicci, her first contracts, and now the man that was walking down the road in front of her; Gaius Maro. Astrid had made it clear that the man needed to die so false information could be planted on him. This would not only distract the captain of the Emperor’s guard, but also ease anyone’s fears that an assassin would be lying in wait among them. The target was ruggedly handsome with square features and kind eyes. He reminded her so much of Joriell in the way that he walked, in the manner in which he spoke to people as he passed by. It was clear that he was an honorable soldier, loyal to the Empire and to Skyrim’s people. And simply for being the son of the captain, he would be slaughtered. She wanted to make it quick and painless, but every time she went to draw back the string of her bow, she hesitated. She feared that hesitation would cost her life. There was no turning back now. Once Astrid had given her the orders, the girl would be unable to return until after the task was carried out. And it didn’t matter now; Gaius had a contract out on him. He was simply a dead man walking. 

Watching the last of the guards begin to turn the corner of the dimply lit road, Illia took her chance. She jumped down in front of the soldier, her cowl hiding her face. Gaius paused, seeing the armed woman began to unsheathe her blades. 

“Who are you?” he asked in a stammer as he drew his sword. He didn’t want to kill this woman, but nothing would keep him from his wife and children. He would return to Dragon Bridge come hell or high water. Illia remained silent, bending her legs so she would have even more power as she bursted in his direction. Daggers shining like lightening in the small casts of moonlight, Illia attacked the man with a ferocity that would have sent weaker men to their knees. Gaius managed to dodge her blows by the skin of his teeth, the girl quick and agile as she struck. Jumping, she spun and kicked the man by driving the flat part of his sword into his chest, leaving him unharmed but gasping for breath. Illia landed gracefully on her palms as she spun another kick, this time sending the man onto his back. Leaping onto his chest, she kept a steady hold of her blade just a hair’s length away from his throat. With his heavy breathing, his skin nicked the sharpened blade, sending a small amount of blood trickling down his sweaty neck. Yet...Illia did not make the final slice. As she stared into his mocha colored eyes, she felt frozen, unable to move from her place. She willed her hand to make the final strike, but she was unable to. Because instead of his face, all she could see was Joriell. The fear and the anguish of when she had casted him aside. When she had lied and told him that she loathed him and to never look for her again. The lost dreams, the shattered hopes; Maro carried the same bleeding eyes that silently begged her for mercy. He wanted to see his wife once more, to see his children grow and marry, to die in a warm bed surrounded by family. All of his heart’s desires were in the palm of her hand and she could not bare to take it away. 

“The Brotherhood has a contract out on you.” she finally said, her voice muffled by the thick fabric of her cowl. “Return to your family and leave; no where will be safe for you.” And so she stood, sheathing her blades and turning her back to him. The girl would have returned to Darren, told him to gather his things and leave before dawn. But before she could finish plotting her plans of hiding, she cried out in an anguished scream as Maro drove his blade through her ribs. Blood gushed from the wound as she collapsed onto the ground in surprise.

“If the Brotherhood is going to hunt me, I will end them.” Gaius hissed in her ear as she felt his hand grasp her cowl. “Face me like a man, you coward.” He ripped the fabric from her face, revealing her true identity, and removing any chance he had for surviving. If Illia’s appearance had remained a secret, Maro would have had a chance at survival, but now Illia had no choice. She would have kill him. Before Maro could take another swing of his blade, Illia leaped, sending the man’s blade flying as she kicked it out of his hand. Willing some of her magicka into her wound, she managed to stop the bleeding but was left feeling unsteady. Maro changed his tactics to brute strength, a crude style that would do him no good against the slimmed framed girl. Taking her dagger between her fingers, she flung the blade and pierced the Imperial through his hand, causing him to scream in a panic. In the distance, Illia could hear the bell as the guards began to rally at the sound of fighting. She needed to end it quickly and retreat. Taking her blade, she ran it along Gaius’ throat, watching as the man began to choke on his own blood. Only allowing her grief to wash over her for a moment, she planted the documents on his choking corpse before shrouding her face once more and disappearing behind the misty veil of the darkened night. 

  
  
  
  


Illia returned to the Sanctuary before dawn, her mind in a daze. The numbness that she had grown so accustomed to had returned with its mercy, stealing away the shame and regret that came with every kill. Soaked in dirt, sweat, and blood, she entered the dank undergrowth of Sanctuary to find Astrid leaning against the table with documents full of plans. 

“Word has already began to spread. Well done.” The cold woman cooed in a near seductive tone. “My dear, you really should stick with your bow. You’re always such a mess when you get up close and personal.”

Illia greeted her with silence, awaiting the coin she was due. Astrid sighed and tossed the heavy bag at the girl which she quickly caught and strapped to her hip. Without another word, Illia made her way over to the bathing chamber, ignoring the whispers of delight that were pouring from the Night Mother’s undead lips. The bath water was scalding, but the blood no longer stained her skin. After using oils that smelled of rose petals and honeysuckle, she returned to her room. Darren was focused on his book, paying little mind to the half naked woman that was standing before him, despite the temptation to look. Seeing him softened her heart, making it easier to breathe but also sparking a yearning that had scared her before; Illia desired more than anything to be touched again. Not just sex, but to just be held, to be known by another once more. However, she forced herself to dress in a clean set of dark robes and to seek a book to distract her.

“You’re quiet.” Darren stated matter-of-factly, his eyes not leaving his book. She wondered if he had even been reading it. 

“Isn’t the Listener supposed to be quiet?”

“Perhaps, but you’ve never been good at listening.”

“On the contrary, I’ve heard every word you or anyone else has ever said. I just choose to ignore it.” A crooked grin spread across her lips, causing the mage to chuckle under his breath. “It shouldn’t be long now. Perhaps another month and the Emperor will arrive. Then we can finally leave this place...go to Valenwood, perhaps.”

“You would like Valenwood.” Darren remarked, closing his book to give her his full attention. “The elves are pacifists, only fighting when absolutely necessary.” 

“It would be a change from a blood thirsty Skyrim.” 

“Then you should be happy to know that your wait will be even shorter than what you imagined.” Astrid spoke as she entered their room without permission. Illia doubted that Astrid cared she was leaving. In the woman’s eyes, Illia was a threat to her command. The longer she remained, the more people would become loyal to the Night Mother. “I received word that Emperor Tiber Septim boarded a ship for his cousin’s funeral not three days ago. He will be arriving on the shores of Solitude within the week.”

Astrid tossed Illia a new set of armor along with white attire befitting for a chef in one of the palaces of Cyrodiil to wear. 

“You will be posing as the Gourmet. I already had Veezara take care of him.” the woman explained “Darren, we will be in need of your Lotus poison. Once you have carried out the deed, an escape route will be provided for you in the white tower of the Blue Palace. From there, you’re free to do as you please.”

“Thank you, Astrid.” Illia tried as best she could to be sincere. Astrid had delivered on every promise that she had made to her. With the Emperor gone, things would change even more greatly in Skyrim. The Empire would fall into a new rule under Tiber Septim’s daughter, an adversary of the Thalmor. From there, who knew what would happen to the Stormcloak rebellion? It didn’t matter. She and Darren would be long gone before then. 

“I promised you vengence, Illia.” Astrid replied “A member of the Brotherhood always carries out his promise.”

  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Maven Blackbriar had given Gem information on Illia faster than what she had anticipated. Within the week, Gem was fully informed on the girl’s movements. However, it was Maven’s ties to the Brotherhood that made tracking the rogue so easy. The Breton girl had pondered for many hours the right way to tell Joriell of the news she had learned; how Illia had not only casted him aside, but had sold her service to that of the Brotherhood. The increase of murders throughout Skyrim, the death of Vittoria Vicci: All of it pointed to Illia Stormborn. 

Joriell had returned from his trip to Whiterun, where he had hoped to gain any aid from the Companions. Disappointed, the band of warriors could only spare some healing potions and some supplies for the journey. The inn was quiet for the most part. The bard Sven would stare in disdain as he played his hymns as he observed Camilla and Faendal sharing a drink. Lucan and Orrgnar were enjoying a drunken evening while Delphine and Esbern continued their research within their secret room below the tavern. Taking a bottle of ale from the counter, the Dragonborn uncorked it with his teeth and began to sip on the liquid. With her hands slightly trembling, she approached her friend...lover...she wasn’t sure. Although she and Joriell had continued spending nights together, there had been no actual discussion on where they stood. Was this just a passing distraction from the looming danger that surrounded them, or was there something more? And what would happen when Illia reentered his life once more? Would she find herself to be tossed aside? 

Swallowing hard, she sat next to them and ordered a drink and bowl of stew from Orrgnar. Joriell greeted her with a smile before taking a bite of bread dipped in a venison flavored broth. The scent of it made Gem’s mouth water in anticipation, and it took every ounce of restraint she had to not swallow the entire bowl when Orrgnar set it in front of her. Digging in, the savory flavor of the gamey meat instantly satisfy any ring of hunger that she had. Joriell laughed aloud as he watched her eat.

“You seem half starved.” he beamed as he ordered a second bottle of ale. 

“I’m starving.” Gem managed to stay between bites of bread and stew. “How was Whiterun?”

“Vilkas sent his regard and said that he had heard no word on Illia since the wedding.” Joriell explained, his tone unreadable. “We do have some healing potions for the ordeal.”

In truth, Joriell had hoped his friend would have had some information on Illia even if it was only on her well being. When Delphine had suggested finding her, he felt as though someone had sent a ball of flames through his chest. The memory of her...her scent of roses and honeysuckle...her bewitching eyes...and the way she uplifted him and supported him throughout all his journeys. He had given all of his heart to her only to have it crushed. When she first told him that she didn’t love him, he had believed that she was only lashing out in anger over her own suffering, pushing him away as she often did when she was aching. Part of him had still hoped that she would walk through the doors of the Sleeping Giant Inn, realize her mistake and then they would be reunited once more. But days turned to weeks...and weeks to months...and the more he began to realize that she wasn’t coming. Perhaps she did hate him, maybe she blamed him for her agony. He didn’t know. She wouldn’t tell him. The one thing that he was still sure of was that he loved her despite all of the pain she had caused him. Before, he would have been willing to even rekindle their relationship...but then there was Gem. She too had won him over in ways he hadn’t quite imagined. She was fun and exciting, leaving him hungry for more adventure. And she also had become a place of refuge, a shoulder to lean on throughout this entire mess with Alduin. And in his own way, he had fallen for her too. Yet...she wasn’t Illia. Illia had seen him in his most broken state, hunted dragons alongside him, had helped him to cure his lythocrapy, and had cared about what he wanted. She didn’t force him to become a hero as others had done, as even Gem had done, but had asked him if it was what he truly desired. Could he really toss her aside so easily? 

“Have you heard any word from Maven?” 

Gem roughly swallowed her last bite, coughing as she choked on a piece of bread before chugging more of her ale. She paused, pulling some papers from her satchel and setting them on the counter of the bar. 

“You should read these.” 

Joriell unwrapped the loose twine keeping the letter sealed. It was rough calligraphy, obviously done in a hurry, with a large series of names and causes of death; all of which were different variations of foul play. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Keep reading.”

He continued to look at correspondence letters between someone with the alias of ‘A’ between another individual who prefered to use a wax seal at the bottom with a symbol of Cyrodiil. In the letters, plans describing an assassination of Tiber Septim were vaguely mentioned, but one in particular caught his eye. 

 

__ _ Maven, _

 

__ __ _ I’m well aware of your concerns over our dealings with the Night Mother’s presence within the family. Rest assured, Sithis’ Bride will be silenced once more with the death of the Listener. I’ve arranged for our newest recruit to carry out her final contract before she’s tragically handed over to Captain Maro. Removing her mage will be another matter entirely for I believe him maintain exceptional skill. However, I hope to maintain your support in removing the jester and the corpse. The rest of the family will be at unrest if the situation is not handled with deft hands.  _

 

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ _ \---A _

  
  
  
  


“Mage?” Joriell was dumbfounded “You don’t mean-”

“Illia’s mage; Blackwater if I remember correctly.”

“Meaning that Illia is the Listener.”

“Indeed.” Gem replied quietly “And the leader of the Brotherhood means to kill her.”

“But where is she?”

“Maven refused to give that information, based on her own dealings with the Brotherhood.” Gem said pulling out another paper from her satchel. “However, I can guess where Illia is going to be.” It was an announcement out of Solitude stating that the Emperor was to arrive within three days time. “More than likely, Illia is already on her way to Solitude to carry out her final orders. My only question is how and why she took an interest in the Brotherhood to begin with. How did she get their attention?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Joriell said, already getting to his feet “We need to get to Solitude and stop her.”   
  


  
  
  


~~~~~~~

  
  
  


Illia finished dressing in her disguise, her armor hidden cleverly underneath for her eventual escape. She would have to wait for the opportunity to hide her face, knowing that she’d need any advantage if she hoped to live a somewhat normal life after this. 

“When you return…” Darren spoke from the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked pale, almost translucent in the dim light. Dressed in black robes trimmed with gold, he looked taller and thinner as if he was sick with worry. “We will have to leave Skyrim.”

“As soon as I get back, we’ll have to make our way towards Valenwood.” Illia explained as she adjusted her white tunic. “Crossing through High Rock seems to be the safest bet.” 

“I don’t know.” Darren grinned “With your luck you might manage to piss of their lords as well.”

“I wouldn’t put it past us.”  Illia laughed nervously. Her hands were trembling as the adrenaline continued to pump through her veins. The time had finally come. The man responsible for the death of her parents, for her capture, for ambushing Joriell; he was finally going to answer for his crimes. She hoped he knew that she was the one responsible for it all. Darren rested a calm hand on her shoulder which she reached for and squeezed. A wave of magic washed over her and she felt every ounce of tension in her muscles relax and melt away. She exhaled a sigh of relief.

“You need to keep your mind focused.” he replied “You only have one shot at this. And--I cannot stand the thought of you not returning.” 

She turned to face him, his face only inches from hers. His hand traced down the length of her cheek and for the first time, she could feel his anxiety as if it were her own. He feared she wouldn’t return. It had been his biggest fear throughout the entire endeavor. Darren had been so kind, her watchful guardian, her best friend, her closest confidant; she couldn’t bare the thought of him fearing for her so greatly. She reached and placed her palm across his cheek, much to his surprise. Their lips were barely apart, the scent of his sweetened tea on his breath filling her with safety and electricity all at the same time. Painfully slow, she pressed her lips against his, letting them rest their for a moment before allowing him access to her mouth. He tasted sweet and the scent of his musk, like eucalyptus and mint, filled her with even more desire. Darren was stunned for a moment before he finally allowed himself to relax against her embrace. His tongue gently swept across her bottom lip, sending delicious shivers down her spine. He was more playful than she expected and yet, his gentleness made her want to cry. She hadn’t felt something like it...ever. She didn’t want him to stop. But to her great disappointment, he pulled away pressing his forehead against hers. His hand pressed to the small of her back, pulling her closer in a tight embrace that made her dizzy.

“Promise me that you’ll come back to me.” he whispered, kissing her forehead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it has been so long. Working full time has been awful but I'm looking to switch jobs again (this current one is awful) but I'd be part time which means more time for writing. Thank you all for your support and feel free to leave comments :)


	22. Chapter 22

The air was still and silent. Illia remained perched and relaxed within the frame of her window as she took in the view of Solitude from her room at the Winking Skeever. The sky was navy and gray, littered with ominous clouds that were bound to create a stormy night within the city. She loved it. The smell of damp grass, mud, and rain; it felt clean and renewing. And yet, the citizens of Solitude remained indoors, clinging to their steamed mugs filled with heavy stews, or boiled potatoes. Even the children she had grown accustomed to seeing playing along the sidewalks had retreated within their homes, asking their parents for comforting words and stories before the storm. It made her yearn for her mother.

When Illia was a child, growing up on the banks of the Topal Bay,  she had often feared the storms that would emerge from the combining the warm southern winds with the chilling northern air. The wind would twist and spiral, destroying any glass decor that sat upon the family’s outside furniture. Waves would collide against the walls that surrounded their home, terrifying the girl to pieces. And yet, the waters never touched their home. Rain would bring new life to the flowers growing in their gardens, making it even a sweeter smelling place for her to read in. Lyanna had often told her that storms just bring change and new life. Yet as a small child, she would still cry at the sound of thunder and the woman would gingerly swoop her up in her arms, and hum a lullaby while she dried her tears. 

Lyanna had always been a peaceful woman, offering her love and care when she could. Some would say she nagged (Illia being one of them), but now she yearned to hear her mother chastise her once more. If she saw her now, in low cut shrouded armor with her chef’s clothes hanging on chairs, and her hair wild and free; she was sure the woman would have had a stroke. 

 

Her name hung on Illia’s lips, willing to be spoken in the open air, but she bit her tongue before turning away from the open window. She missed...her life. She missed the Companions and adventuring; she missed the time she was happy and free; but above all else, she missed Joriell. Although her feelings had grown for Darren, perhaps where something could grow, her heart still longed for the companionship she shared with the Dragonborn. She missed his laugh and crooked grin, the way he would always challenge her to new heights. Her one regret was knowing that she would not see him before she left Skyrim for good. Sorry that she couldn’t explain herself and her fears in person. So instead, she grasped a quill and a piece of parchment.

  
  


_ Joriell, _

 

__ __ _    I hope this letters reaches you, and that you are well. In truth, I find myself feeling gray, as if I were lost in a fog. By now I’m sure word has reached you as to what I have done, and if you feel as though I betrayed you, know that it was not intentional. Of all my victims, I believe you have suffered the worst at my hand and for that I am ashamed. I never wished to cause you any pain. After my outburst in Whiterun, I felt unworthy of you. I was not the same girl that you had met almost a year ago. I am…changed. That is the only way to describe it. Although time has begun to heals the wounds of loss and pain, I don't believe I'll ever be the same Illia you first met, who you first loved. And yet, I find myself to the same inescapable truth; I still love you. However, you deserve true happiness and peace; things I will never be able to bring you. I have left Skyrim and will most likely never return. I pray to Mara that you shall return from your quest to defeat the dragon threat unharmed. And I pray that she will grant you the same mercy and healing she granted me. May Mara guide you, my friend. _

 

_                              With my deepest love, _

_                                           Illia _

  
  


The following morning, she would send the message along to a courier in Riverwood. Joriell was bound to be there. But for now, she would sleep, awaiting the morning before she finally put an end to her living nightmare. The Emperor had arrived earlier that day and was scheduled for a meeting with his advisors over lunch. It was then that she would strike, finally ridding herself of her Imperial threat. Perhaps, when it was all over, she would find a new peaceful life with Darren in Valenwood. 

  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The wind felt like ice against his skin as rain battered his face, arms, and chest. Joriell could only imagine how cold the night he would have been had he still been wearing the steel armor he had originally entered Skyrim in. Night had fallen over the western roads, making it even harder to see through the storm.

“We should rest for the night, Joriell!” Gem called out, trying to be heard over the heavy droplets pouring over their head. He knew she was right, and hated her for it. They were still several miles from Dragon Bridge, and the Emperor had already arrived in Solitude earlier that day. No one had tried to strike yet, but he doubted the peace would last for long. If they kept at this pace, they would arrive in Solitude until the following evening. But...it was too dangerous to keep traveling the roads. 

“We’ll leave at first light.” he called back, pulling his horse to a more, or less open clearing. 

 

Struggling through the rain, they set up a single tent that was close to collapsing from the downpour and huddled together for warmth. There was no  way they were going to be able to get a fire started, so they ate stale bread and cider for dinner, still drenched and shivering.

“We’ll find her, Joriell.” Gem comforted when she noticed Joriell was hardly speaking. In fact, he had barely spoken to her since her first learned the news of Illia’s whereabouts and actions. She had never been so desperate as to hunt down the Emperor of Tamriel. Was it for her revenge or freedom? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both. Either way, he knew the consequences would be deadly if she succeeded in her quest. 

“You should get some rest.” he finally said, swallowing his last gulp of lukewarm cider. “I’ll take first watch.” Gem accepted defeat, grasping their one dry blanket and coddling it until she managed to fall into a half sleep. 

 

Joriell couldn’t even think of rest despite the heavy feeling weighing down his limbs. He knew it would be best for him to fully regain his strength. More than anything, he would need a clear head tomorrow. What they were setting out to do would be nearly impossible if they didn’t catch Illia before she went to strike the Emperor. If she did, her life would be forfeit and likely she would die in the attempt. Or, she managed to survive and would then be on the run for high treason for the rest of her life. She would never be allowed to enter Skyrim again. Either way, he could lose her forever. He couldn’t-no, he refused to let that happen. He would stop her, he would protect her, and he would do it by any means necessary. 

  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~

 

Smoke...the scent of it licked at his nose as he laid dreaming in his bed. He felt as though he was suffocating as he endured what he thought was just another nightmare. But the burning in his lungs that left him weak and breathless caused him to awake. Coughing and teary eyed, Darren realized he was not in a dream. Black clouds poured into his bedroom, and soon he began to hear the alert from Veezara.

“Ambush!” he screamed, choking on the smoke as Darren heard the unsheathing of his blade. The mage was quickly to his feet, grateful that he had dozed off wearing his usual robes with golden runes sketched as embroidery along the seams. Outside of his room, he heard the sound of metal clanking and echoing as soldiers flooded the Sanctuary. Four of them entered Darren’s room, surrounding the mage almost instantly.

“What kind of assassin is unarmed?” one of them berated 

“Who cares? Maro’s orders were clear.” On his left, a soldier lunged his blade at him. Darren ducked, weilding a magic in his hand that caused the soldier to fly over his back before landing roughly on the concrete. The others reacted almost instantly, attacking him with their blades. Darren summoned a mind blast, stunning them for the moment he needed to fire an electric pulse at their armor. The metal of their armor morphed and melted as it conducted around the soldiers’ bodies, tearing and melting into their flesh until they collapsed in smoking heaps. Wasting no time, the mage entered the inner hub of the Sanctuary to fire it blanketed in flames as soldiers flooded within its walls with the single goal of death in their minds. Darren didn’t have time to question what had gone wrong. He would have to defend the Brotherhood and find out what happened later. 

Another soldier pounced him from behind, slashing his shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound, but Darren felt no pain. Angered, he turned to the soldier and stuck out his hand so that a ball of red light was reflected in the man’s eyes. The illusion spell washed over the man, causing him to pause. Immediately, he grasped a dagger from his belt and began to dig into the flesh along his arms, not pausing as he tore through muscle and veins. Continuing his strut down the stairs to the main lower level of the Sanctuary, Darren could see the dark child begin to be surrounded with soldiers armed with torches. The vampire girl hissed in rage, ready to pounce although the sweat along her brow betrayed her fear. One of the Legionnaire’s attempted to burn her, but Darren summoned a wall of ice to surround the girl and shield her from the heat. The angry Imperials turned to face him, but Darren was already casting his next hex, crushing their bodies to the ground until their bones had shattered and turned to jelly. 

Inhale…..exhale….he steadied his mind so he could continue in his attacks. The child granted him her thanks before vanishing into one of the empty, cool caverns that would protect her from the fire. He didn’t doubt that she would focus more on her own survival, considering she was the most vulnerable to the flames. 

A ravenous roar echoed throughout the chamber as Darren watched Astrid’s husband take on the shape of a white wolf. Fierce and deadly, he sank his claws into the soldiers and a crowd of twenty began to surround him. Arrows plunged into his flesh, soaking his fur with blood and soot. Darren was about to fire another spell in their direction when he realized the burning flesh coming off of the wolf. The arrows were laced with poison. Werewolf or human, there was no saving him. Instead, Darren casted a small hex to relieve him of the pain he would no doubt endure as the soldiers began to overwhelm and ruin him. Instead, the mage made his way towards the sleeping quarters of the rest of the family where Veezara and Nazeem were fighting off another group of enemies. The Redguard slashed and defended as he stood back to back with the Argonian. The reptilian assassin twirled his tail, striking soldiers with his scales and cutting their flesh like razors. 

The soldiers screamed, but banded even closer together, striking with precision and accuracy in Veezara’s shoulder and arms. Blood gushed from the assassin’s wounds, but he continued to fight. Darren raised his hand, reaching his grasp to a spectral hold over the flames when he felt the sting of metal be driven through his back. Looking down at his chest, he saw a the sharpest point of a grooved sword sticking out where his heart would have been. If he had been human, he would have been killed instantly. Turning, he faced an unarmed soldier with terrified eyes. He had expected the mage to fall easily. Instead he was facing a pair of glowing red eyes, full of rage and pain. Darren raised his hand, a black aura surrounding his shoulders and crown as a ball of red light formed in the center of his palm. The heat began to burn at the mage’s flesh, turning the pale skin black as he centered it at the Imperial. Spreading his hand slightly wider, the ball exploded into an intense beam that turned the man into a pile of ashes. Grasping the blade, he pulled it from his back and casted an enchantment over the blade. Another hex, he teleported in front of the injured Argonian and slashed down several of the Imperial soldiers with his flaming sword, saving the assassin from several more injuries. 

Veezara gasped for breath, clinging to a wound that was profusely bleeding on his side. Placing his hand to the wound, a ball of warm light spread over Darren’s palm as he pushed his magicka into the wound, weaving the flesh together once more.

“Thanks.” Veezara hissed gratefully. “How are you still alive, mage?” The gaping wound in Darren’s chest was still bleeding.

“Another story for another day.” Darren muttered, a wave of exhaustion hitting him after using so much of his mana. He would have to tap into the Soul Cairn if he wished to continue. “Where are the others? The unchild has retreated and Arnbjorn has perished.” 

“Festus and Gabriella were the first to fall in the attack.” Nazir muttered “It’s good to know that Babette is unharmed.”

“Where is Astrid?”

“I haven’t seen her.” Veezara said “But we need to go to the Night Mother’s chamber. It’s our job to make sure the Night Mother is safe.” Darren nodded, helping Nazir in getting Veezara to his feet as the room continued to flood with smoke. Making their way towards the Night Mother’s Sanctuary, they found the burning corpse of Cicero, obviously killed in an attempt to protect his matron. However, the piles of surrounding bodies, showed that the jester had not been so easily defeated. The air reeked of burning flesh and smoke. The sound of soldiers searching the Sanctuary could be heard echoing throughout the halls. They would either need to remove them, or take the Night Mother to a safer location. Either way, the Sanctuary was lost. 

Outside of the Night Mother’s doors, Darren could hear arguing, loud enough to make him pause and have Nazir set Veezara to the floor. The voice was that of a female and another soldier, the woman was obviously enraged.

“I made a deal with Maro. What bullshit-”

“Did you really think that the captain would trust an assassin?” the male quipped, his voice husky and full of good humor “You’re such a fool, Astrid.”

“I gave you the girl!”

“And she’ll be in Maro’s captivity today. And trust me, he has some plans for her.” the man continued “A traitor to the Empire, an assassination attempt on the Emperor; no one in Skyrim will ever utter the name Stormborn again, all in thanks to you.” 

Darren’s heart stopped in his chest as a chill ran down his spine.  _ Illia... _ rage began to consume him, his eyes changing from lilac to the color of ebony. He felt himself reach for more mana from the Soul Cairn.

“Darren-” Nazir tried to interfere but the mage was already on his feet as a black shrouded of magic began to surround him. Bursting through the doors, the soldier unsheathed his blade to face him, but with a wave of his hand, Darren threw the Imperial across the room, crushing every bone in his body from the force of the attack. For the first time since he had met her, Astrid was petrified, unable to move as the mage seized by the throat and slammed her against the glass mural that depicted Sithis and his Void. 

**_“You……she trusted you.”_ ** Darren couldn’t recognize his own voice as he felt the spirits in the Soul Cairn enter him in their attempts to free themselves from the hell hole that was their eternity. However, Darren was not a gateway. Instead, the souls would fade away as they were absorbed within his magicka, disappearing into some afterlife. Darren tried to control his rage, knowing that he was destroying an endless amount of lives as he drew on this kind of power, but his anger could not be seethed. Instead, he only became more irate  **_“You treacherous cunt, she would have disappeared and never would have been a threat to your power.”_ **

“I had to--.” Astrid managed to whisper between gasps of air as Darren slowly squeezed the life from her. “They---they found us---the Brotherhood would have been destroyed.”

**_“Your betrayal didn’t save you from the ashes.”_ ** Darren’s grip tightened and he felt as the flames surrounding them began to grow. Unknowingly, his magic had seized control over them, causing their damage to only grow. He didn’t care through. Apathy had only washed over him with the rage.  **_“How long before Maro strikes?”_ **

“It’s too late. If his men have been sent here then she is already walking into his trap.” 

**_“Then I have no use for you.”_ ** Darren felt the black aura snake along his arm, beginning to tighten and surround the leader’s body. Astrid’s screams echoed throughout the room as the smoke began to burn away at her flesh, stripping her down to her muscle. 

 

“Let her go.” Darren stood still as he felt the end of a blade touch the skin of his throat. Veezara held the dagger without any trembling in his hand despite how terrified he was of the necromancer. Darren, however, kept his stare fixated on Astrid who was still screaming as the smoke ate away at her flesh.

**_“Veezara...as easily as I healed you, I can take it away.”_ ** With a snap of his fingers, the Argonian screamed and fell to his knees as he felt all of his wounds reopen and begin to bleed once more.  **_“And what of you, Nazir?”_ ** The mage turned to stare the Redguard up and down as he stood with his blade unsheathed in the doorway.  **_“Will you defend her as well?”_ ** Astrid pleaded with her eyes, begging her friend to save her from her fate. Nazir was torn, obviously weighing his options before he finally sheathed his blade and turned his gaze away.

“She broke the tenants when she sold our family member to the Legion.” Nazir finally said “Do with her what you will, Darren.” The Redguard turned away, exiting out of the room, leaving Darren to his own devices. Veezara was in shock, already turning pale from the loss of blood. Darren, however, waved his hand over him once more and closed the wounds. 

“Do not challenge me again.” Darren said, his voice returning to normal “For I will put your head on a pike and feel no remorse, Shadow Scale.” 

 

Astrid shrill cries became for desperate as she fell to the ground, her armor soaked in blood and rotting flesh. Darren’s spell was only making her torment worse. Veezara, tried to stand, to make his way over to Astrid, but was too dizzy to move. 

“Just kill me, please!” Astrid begged “End it!” Darren looked at her, his eyes showing no mercy or remorse. Part of him liked hearing her beg, to be spared after what she had done. But if he did this, tortured her until she finally died, he would be no better than Potema. Tears poured down Astrid’s face as she begged Darren to end his curse. Waving his hand, the spell faded, leaving her breathless. His hand seized the Blade of Woe strapped to her hip and brought the blade to her throat. 

“Tell Sithis that Illia will not be joining him in the Void.” he muttered and sliced the blade along her throat before letting it fall to the ground. He watched a Astrid bled out in a gasp, collapsing as the life left her. Darren looked to Veezara, who had fainted from his wounds being reopened, Darren casted one final spell to rejuvenate him before making his way out of the Sanctuary. He would make it to Solitude and he would find her one way or another. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The kitchens within the barracks of Solitude were perfumed with the savory scents of butter, cheese, and salted meats. Even the bubbling stew that Illia had prepared for the Emperor smelled delicious despite the bottle of poison that had been dumped within it. 

Everything had been going according to plan. Illia had easily made her way within the walls of the building without causing any suspicion. Even better, the guards had invited her to watch deliver the meal herself. She doubted the Emperor would recognize her, for the man had been half blind when they had first met. As long as she kept her distance, she would be able to watch his sentence be carried out. Then it would be over. Relief washed over her like a drug. She would finally be free. 

The assistant who had helped her in preparing the meal, kindly led the way up the stairs to the main dining room where the Emperor’s guests waited in anticipation to greet the leader of Cyrodiil. The trays along the table had been served with a decadent assortment of treats, fruits, and  exotic meats, causing most of the party to salivate in anticipation. But at the head of the table sat the man who had haunted Illia’s thoughts. He was still regal despite his failing health. His beard had grown slightly unkempt, which was unusual for Tiber Septim. Yet, he was still the same man in the flesh. 

“It smells wonderful.” the old man said with a delightful grin as he lusted over the stew that was being presented to him. The assistant chef smiled as she ladled a well portioned amount into his bowl. 

“My lord, may I present to you the Gourmet.” she said, presenting Illia before the Emperor. Despite herself, Illia found her hands to be shaking in a quiet fury as she looked the man who had murdered her family in the eyes. 

“My, my…” he said adjusting his eyes as he looked Illia up and down. “You’re such a pretty thing. I’m sure you’ve made some man very lucky.”

“I could only hope to please a future husband, m’lord.” she said “However, I remain unmarried.” 

“A pity...a pretty girl who can cook. Such treasure are hard to find in Skyrim these days.” he grinned “I must say though, you seem awfully familiar.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of venturing out of Skyrim, I’m afraid.” Illia replied quickly “Although I’m told I have one of those faces that seems familiar to everyone.”

“Ah, yes, well, I’m glad to have had the pleasure of officially meeting you, my dear.” he said spooning himself a portion “But now to the main event.” His lips pressed against the spoon and he slurped the soup up gingerly in an effort to avoid burning his throat. He inhaled slowly with delight as he allowed the salty and savory flavors to wash over his tongue. “How marvelous...it’s like the cooking my old nurse maid used too-”

Tiber Septim paused as he broke into a cough. His throat dried as if he had swallowed a mouthful of ash. His lips began to turn blue around the edges as his face began to swell.

“Poison!” Illia was already leaping over the tables, tossing her chef’s garb at the swarming soldiers as she raced away from the Emperor’s corpse. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

An alert echoed from the soldier’s barracks as more Legionnaires began to flood the streets of Solitude. Joriell looked at Gem, his eyes filled with worry as soldiers began to order civilians into their homes. They were too late.

“Go.” Gem said “Find her. Go!”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll meet you at Dragon Bridge. It’s not safe to remain in Solitude.” Gem disappeared in the crowd as Legionnaires chased her. Anyone who was a traveller was going to be seized for questioning. But Gem would be safe. He could trust that. His sword strapped to his belt, Joriell ran towards the tower where the Emperor had been meeting with his diplomats. The last time he faced Imperials, he had been caught off guard with no chance to defend himself. They wouldn’t be as lucky this time. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Illia’s lung felt as though they were on fire as she continued to sprint up the stair cases, tossing everything from shelves to servants in the paths of the men pursuing her. Her long, ebony hair whipping behind her, she was as fast as a shadow. Still, the men were relentless. The white tower...that was her goal. Astrid had left her escape route there. If she could only make it there, all would be well. She would escape. She would return to Darren. She would return to a new life. 

The labyrinth that was the soldier’s barracks was almost impossible to navigate. All she could figure is that if she kept going up then she would eventually reach the tower. She just had to keep moving. Arrows kept firing in her direction, all of which she kept narrowly avoiding. If she slowed even the tiniest bit, she would be struck. 

_ “Mara, have mercy on me.”  _ she desperately prayed as she continued to sprint, her legs beginning to feel weak and heavy. A door entered her field a vision. Streams of bright light peeked out of spaces of wood that formed the thin wooden door. It was her escape...her way out. She began to run even faster.

 

The sun blinded her as she locked the door. The white cobblestone of the bridge that led to the white tower was beautiful, unscathed from battle and terror. Emerging from the tower, she saw a few men dressed in the Emperor’s guard uniform, just as Astrid had informed her. One of the men was large and husky, his head mostly bald despite being middle aged in years. Yet something about him seemed familiar. 

“So, you’re Astrid’s agent?” he said, his voice more like a growl after years of barking orders at new recruits. “You’re not at all what I expected.” 

“That’s mostly the point.” Illia felt uneasy. Something about the way the man was eyeing her up and down made her skin crawl. “So how are we supposed to be leaving here?”

“Oh, you’re not leaving.” The men in the standing tower kept their bows at the ready with her as their target. Illia kept her hands on her blades, but she was cornered. They knew it. “Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“A dead man walking.”

“That’s a more accurate description of yourself, my dear.” he said as he approached her so that he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “No, you girl, you murdered my son.” His eyes, they were the same shade of chocolate brown, staring right through her.  _ Maro... _ she seethed. She would have let him go...if only he had not seen her face.

“Yes, I killed Gaius.”

“You are not fit to speak his name, bitch.” he said, drawing his sword and holding it to her throat. Illia didn’t flinch or blink twice. She didn’t fear death anymore. “You took my son from me. You took my family! Why? What reason could you have had to destroy an empire?”

Illia swallowed hard. This….this was not an act of anger or violence. Captain Maro was demanding answers from her. Surely there could have been another way to reach the Emperor without shedding innocent blood. How many people’s lives had she ruined to earn her freedom...her revenge...her so-called justice? She had become the very thing she was fighting against. Darren had been right. This path would destroy her. 

“Tell me, Captain...when you look into my eyes, do you see a stranger?” she asked “Because when I look into yours, I see your son. He stared at me with those same eyes as I held my blade to his throat...and hesitated.”

Maro was confused, his blade shaking in his hand as he fought the urge to weep at the thought of his son. Still, the blade did not fall.

“For the first time since my journey began on this path, my blade hesitated because I saw that Gaius was a good man. And so, I stayed my hand and told him to leave Skyrim with his family...but he saw me as his only threat.” Illia explained, her voice quivering at the memory and the emotions it stirred. “And when my face was revealed in the quarrel, I had no choice but to follow through with my task.. So I made it as quick as I could. So tell me Maro, when you look into my eyes, do you see a stranger?”

Maro looked her over carefully, his eyes studying every feature, trying to remember how he knew her face. Until finally, the truth dawned on him.

“Illia Stormborn…” he whispered “But you--you were---”

“Taken by the Thalmor under the orders of Emperor Tiber Septim.” Illia felt the rage begin to build in her chest, her heart feeling as though it was going to burst. “ **_Tortured_ ** under the orders of Emperor Tiber Septim.  **_Raped_ ** under the orders of Emperor Tiber Septim.  **_My family murdered_ ** under the orders of Emperor Tiber Septim!  **_Running for my life in exile_ ** under the orders of Tiber Septim! No more!” She unsheathed her blade clashing it against Maro’s so that it was no longer a threat to her. Tears were pouring down her face for the first time in months. All of agony she had tried to bury was for the Captain to see. “I have been following orders from my parents for my entire life. I was given to Ulfric Stormcloak as a bartering chip to remove a weak Emperor from his throne. And I have been running from Legionnaires, Stormcloaks, and Thalmor; always in fear of having a finger or an arrow pointed at my back. I do not wish to kill you or your men, Captain Maro, the same as I wished not to kill your son. But I will run no longer. I will be free, whether in this life or the next.” 

Maro refused to sheathe his blade, despite how deep her words had struck him. His son...his only son...no matter what the girl had gone through, it didn’t change what she did. His son deserved better.

“Then let it be the next.” He said as he charged with his blade. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, my week has been interesting. For one, it was my birthday on Tuesday so I'm no longer in fear of teen pregnancy!! (Yay, for being 20) However, on the very same day, I went to the doctor's and was told that I have mono. So that's just fucking dandy. But on the bright side, despite the girl's in my apartment believing that I have the plague, I have a lot of time to write because I will have to go down to part-time because haha I can't get any of the patients sick with this bullshit. Also I have the risk of my spleen rupturing for a month so we'll see how that goes.   
>  In the story realm, we are actually entering a countdown. After this chapter, I believe that there will only be eleven more in this book. I could be wrong though. The characters always make choices contrary to my plans. However, this chapter was a blast to write. Allowing Darren to finally reveal just a fraction of his powers felt like a huge release and just building the tension was amazing. This entire chapter has been one that I've been building up to for a while so I super excited about it and can't wait to hear what you guys think. I love getting feedback. As always that you all so much for being so patient with me and continuing to support my little love child. It's sad to know that honestly, it will probably be finished by the end of October at the current pace I'm writing at, but I already have the next adventure planned. Also, towards the end of August I will have the first few chapters of my original book posted so if you guys like this, I'd love for you to stay tuned to check out some of my original works. As always, feel free to comment!! I love hearing from you guys. :)


	23. Chapter 23

Illia braced herself for another impact as Maro struck her once again with his blade. The men that had surrounded her had stayed their hands, making Maro her only threat. Their blades clashed, metal against metal, and she feared she wouldn't be able to keep up. Although she was slightly faster than the older man, his blows were hefty and strong. She was losing almost all of her stamina in just the defense. To make matters worse, the winds were even strong in the free air, making it even harder for the thinly framed girl to keep her balance. 

        Shining silver caught her eye as his blade attempted to slice her across her torso. Taking her daggers, she managed to shield herself from the majority of his attack, but had left her lower half open in the defense. The captain seized the opportunity and kicked her in the stomach, leaving her out of breath and staggering. 

“Is this the best the Brotherhood could hope to offer me?” Maro ridiculed in his rage. “Of course, how much damage could a woman cause?”

       Hot, white anger flared in Illia’s chest as she picked herself to her feet. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she readied her stance. 

“So be it.” Maro growled underneath his breath as he ran to strike the girl down once more. Thinking quickly, Illia leaped over his shoulder, landing on her feet as she managed to drive a dagger through some of the space between his armor, causing some minor wounds and breaking off pieces of his armor. Landing on her feet, Illia went to make another blow, but the captain blocked her attack with his sword before slapping her with his free hand. The rogue rolled as she hit the floor, her face swelling from the impact his blow. The metal from his gauntlets had cut at her face, sending trails of blood down her cheek. 

Illia managed to get to her feet just in time to avoid Maro’s blade slashing her from below. She spun around in a kick, managing to knock Maro off of his feet. The old man fell with a terrible crash, hitting head beginning to bleed as it collided with the pavement. Illia was just about to deliver the final blow when suddenly she felt like she couldn’t breathe. An arrow struck her in her shoulder, causing her to fall to her knees and scream. Ignoring her pain, she ripped the damned thing out before turning to see that Maro’s archers were preparing to fire. She pulled another dagger from her waist and began to sprint in their direction. The men fired, ignoring their superior’s earlier orders, and Illia was forced to seek shelter behind a statuette of Akatosh. She raced over to the statue, barely avoiding the arrows until one finally pierced the left side of her ribs. Crying out, she managed to pull herself behind Akatosh for shelter, but was aware that Maro was standing and making his way over to her once more. 

The archers paused, enthralled by the view of their captain grasping Illia’s by her long, ebony hair and holding a blade to her gut. 

“I’m going to make this hurt.” he growled as he took the blade and drove it through her belly, twisting the sword so it would tear more at her flesh. Illia gasped at the pain before she cried out. The metal of the weapon ripped away parts of her flesh, making the wound more deadly and painful. Blood poured at the floor beneath her hanging feet, and the metallic taste of it flooded her mouth. But Illia wasn’t finished yet. In an act of desperation and rage, Illia sprayed a cloud of blood into Maro’s eyes from her lips. Blinded, the man screamed, dropping the girl painfully to the ground. Grasping her dagger, she used all her strength to drive the needle-like weapon into his thigh. Blood, both hers and Maro’s, soaked her clothes. The Imperial screamed and fell to his knees, but grasped the small framed girl by her ankle, dragging her back towards him. Light-headed and dizzy, Illia could barely move to defend herself. Maro grinned at how weak she was, the sweat pouring from his brow as he drew his fist back and began to beat her. Illia gagged as more of the metallic, crimson liquid flooded her mouth, causing her to spit red across the pavement. 

“You traitorous bitch, I’ll send your soul to Sovngarde.” Maro growled as his hands clasped around Illia’s throat, draining her of air. A sensation of pins and needles spread across her face as she felt as though her lips were about to explode. She clawed at his hands, and tried to kick out but found herself unable to move her legs. She was losing too much blood. And she was fading fast. 

In a last ditch effort, Illia reached for one of the daggers strapped to her thigh, her fingertips barely grazing the pommel. Her vision was blurring, and she could feel her lungs beginning to burn as they begged for air. She stretched her fingers to her full length until finally her hand grasped the cold metal of the handle. With ferocity and fear, she stabbed the dagger into Maro’s throat, twisting the blade as she pulled it away. Blood gushed from his wounds and mouth as he choked and spat. His corpse collapsed on top of Illia, pinning her to the stone. She was unable to move, her limbs pale and numb from the battle as she continued to bleed out. Yet, the soldiers were insatiable. 

 

The sound of metal clamoring against the cobblestone echoed in her ears as Maro’s soldiers began to surround her with unsheathed swords. 

_ “So...this is how it ends…” _ Illia tried to move. If she was going to die, she would die fighting. Yet, her body wouldn’t allow her. Her flesh had finally given out on her as the blue sky that glowed above her began to vanish from view. All she could hear was the soldiers until she felt the weight of Maro’s body be lifted from hers. 

“Is she dead?” an Imperial commented.

“Only one way to find out.” A dagger hung dangerously close to her flesh and she could feel the warmth of a small amount of blood fall down her skin as the blade nicked her throat.

 

**_“FUS RO DAH!!!!”_ **

  
  


A rush of air surrounded her as soldiers screamed. Metal clashed roughly against the ground with a crash and multiple groans. The wind instantly silenced as Illia felt herself be lifted up by a pair of strong arms. 

 

**_“FUS RO DAH!!!!!”_ **

  
  


Joriell was terrified. Just from picking her up, the warrior was soaked in blood, sweat, and filth. Her skin was so pale that she was ghostly and cold to the touch.Yet, he didn’t have time to be concerned. The Dragonborn had barely fended off the Legionnaires as he battled his way up the staircase. But he was sure to be surrounded again. How had Illia expected to escape? 

 

The soldiers were beginning to regain themselves although their weapons were scattered about from his shout. The winds continued to roar around them, the sun blinding his view. From behind, he could hear the sounds of soldiers echoing in the stairways. 

His eyes darted to the below. The Sea of Ghosts was dark and treacherous, the waters filled with rocks and slaughterfish. The impact from falling into the water could kill them as easily as the soldiers. But, he didn’t see any other chance. Swallowing hard, he gripped the girl even tighter, and jumped…

 

~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Salt…

 

The taste of it flooded her mouth and burned her nose, making it even harder to breathe. The weight of the waves on her skin made Illia feel as though she would never rise to the surface. Yet, someone was pulling her up, pushing her above the dark waters so that air could once again fill her lungs. Her stomach felt like it was on fire. The water from the sea flooded her wounds, causing her numbness to turn to agony. But she couldn’t scream even as she broke through the water, even as her lungs filled with air. But she was still moving as a tight grip dragged her through the water. But as quickly as she gasped for air, she was once again drowned by another black wave. 

 

This time the hands that had gripped her waist disappeared, and she felt herself sinking lower beneath the waves. It was almost...peaceful. Her lungs felt heavy, but the burning had stopped. She couldn’t hear the currents surrounding her. It was as though she had drifted into a deep slumber that left her feeling heavy, yet weightless. Even the pain had disappeared. 

There was a pull at her hips as she felt hands grip her once more, dragging her at breakneck speed to the surface. The wind whipped at her face, making the water that soaked her skin and armor clammy and cold. 

 

Another wave, but this time she didn’t escape the grip. But she was exhausted, there was no feeling in her limbs and she could only see the blackness that had washed over her eyes on the bridge. She didn’t know where she was, or who she was with. She just wanted them to let her go. She was weighing them down. The sea would drag them to the bottom, finishing them both off. She didn’t want to take any more life. She simply yearned for rest. 

“Illia!” a voice called from above the waves, begging her to hold on. But she didn’t want to. She begged for the mercy of sleep. But the voice, he wouldn’t stop calling her name. Despite herself, her heart pounded at the familiarity of it. The closer the voice drew to her, the more emotions it stirred. And with it came a flood of memories that filled her with an urge to cry.

  
  


_ “I didn’t know warriors had time for books and tea.” he said with a crooked grin. Illia marked the page in her book, nearly spilling her tea in the process as she turned in her chair to face him. _

_ “My father used to say that the mind is as vital in battle as strength.” she replied gently. Her heart was pounding in her chest at the sound of his voice, at the knowing that he was watching her with those same intense green eyes.  _

_ “Your father seems like a wise man.” he responded, ignorant of the thoughtfulness in her eyes. “Is he a warrior?” _

_ “He’s nobody of import.” she answered softly as she continued to run her slim hands across the hardcover of her novel. “And you? Surely your parents must have been of honorable stature for you to be so...so…” _

_ “So what?” A smile spread across his lips. Illia could tell he enjoyed it when she was flustered. _

_ “So inclined to learn. Your skills with a blade are beyond impressive.” she finally managed to say, cursing herself for her lack of composure. _

_ “From you, that’s high praise.” he replied, moving to sit on chair across from her. The rain continued in its steady flow, creating a faint chill in the air. “Though I don’t believe a farmer could be held in high regard.” _

_ “Quite the contrary, farmers are beyond important. Wars and sieges are won through them.” Illia countered “Think about it? Great sieges were not won by soldiers, but by the ability of cities to get supplies. A king who cannot feed his people is hardly fit to be a king, don’t you think?” _

_ “You speak your mind freely.” he noted “I wish more people were like that.” _

 

Her heart pounded at the memory. It was so real and yet felt like it was from so long ago. She had to reach him, had to find him in the waters. But she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t breathe. And suddenly, there was another wave. Within moment, she was sinking far into the deep, abyss. Yet her mind couldn’t let go. It refused to.

  
  


_ “You don’t have to talk about what happened today. I don’t expect you to. But are you-” _

_ “He did not accomplish what he set out to do, Joriell.” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m shaken, yes, but I will be fine. I have you to thank for that.” _

_ “Illia, I-” But before he could speak, her lips barely brushed against his. Her lips, soft and pouty, felt like a feather, her touch almost a ghost on his skin. As quickly as it came, she pulled away. Soft, sapphire eyes met emerald green irises, connecting for but a moment before they vanished.  _

  
  


Joriell...she had to reach him. He was there; she knew it. Her heart couldn’t let him go. No, she wouldn’t let him go. Not when he was so close. She moved to kick, but the burning in her wounds returned. She stifled a cry. The pain, the agony of it, like fire in her veins; but it was relieving. The pain; it meant she was still alive. 

 

_ “His bloodline will forever be tied to the throne.” Illia said _

_ “How-” he paused, the truth finally hitting him. “You’re engaged to be married to Ulfric.” _

__ _ The pain that washed over his face made Illia want to weep with shame. She had never wanted this, had never wanted to cause him sorrow. She should have kept her distance, should have never met his gaze. She should have left as soon as she soon as she saw him enter the halls of Jorrvaskr. _

_ “Yes.” she explained  _

_ “Do you love him?” Joriell asked. The air was still for a moment. Illia didn’t know how to respond to the question. _

_ “It’s not about love, or what I want, Joriell.” Illia replied quietly “I have a duty to my family.” _

_ “Fuck your honor and promises.” Joriell replied, his voice flooding with urgency. “If you had the choice would you marry him?” _

_ “Of course not.” she replied “I’ve never even seen his face. He is a stranger, but that does not change the agreement that my father forged.” _

_ “From what I’ve seen, Ulfric cares little for your safety or for the contract forged if he’s willing to allow his soldiers to potentially harm you. I see the marks on your wrists.” he said, looking to the markings. “Any man who would do this to his future wife is unworthy of Skyrim, unworthy of Tamriel, and unworthy of you.” _

_ “What I want doesn’t matter…” _

_ “You can forge a life for yourself, Illia. Look what you’ve done on your own without your parents or Ulfric. Your life has been forged based on what you’ve wanted.” Joriell said “You can’t allow someone else to make a decision that’s going to change the rest of your life without considering yourself.” _

_ “I don’t know what I want.” _

_ “But I do.” _

_ His lips crashed against hers in a frenzy of teeth and tongue. She gasped under the weight of him as he pressed against one of the surrounding trees, unwilling to let her go. Not that she would let him. His hand cupped the back of her neck while the others pressed against the small of her back, causing her to be pressed closer to him and sending a wave of pleasure throughout her body. Soft breaths of pleasure escaped her lips as he trailed down the length of her neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive flesh. In a breathless whisper, she called his name and seized his lips once more. Her hands explored his hair as her tongue licked to taste the flavor of honey from his lips. _

_ This was what she had been wanting, what she needed, she craved. Their previous kiss had been chaste, only a small window into the passion they had for one another. She couldn’t let this go; not for Ulfric, not for her parents, not for some throne that barely mattered. She wouldn’t, she refused to. So she kissed him back, biting his bottom lips and kissing the length of his throat underneath the shade of the forest trees. _

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


He had managed to pull her to the shore. Sand clung to their skin and clothes, scraping against their flesh and making it feel raw. But he couldn’t stop. Her wound...she was still bleeding profusely. He reached for his satchel only to find that it had been lost to the sea. All his healing potions; they had been swallowed by the Sea of Ghosts.

“No---” he was frantic. He knew nothing of magic. He knew little to nothing of alchemy. And Illia...she wasn’t even conscious. Trying to think, he grasped his soaked, sapphire colored cloak and wrapped it tightly around her wound, only to have it bleed threw in a matter of moments. He looked over her body. She was as pale as a corpse, and her skin was colder than ice. She had grown even thinner since last he saw her, and her hair was longer. Yet...she was still the same. She was the same Illia he remembered from almost a year ago. He had thought that his feelings had passed, that maybe he had stopped loving her. But he hadn’t. And now he could only watch helplessly as her breath left her. 

His mind raced, trying to think of what to do. Until he remembered a technique the apothecary in his village had once used. Taking his palms, he pressed the center of her chest and began to try to drive the water out of her lungs. There was no immediate change and so he moved to pushed air into her lungs. Her lips were felt as cold as Skyrim’s wintery mountains as he blew a breath into her lungs. 

“Illia, don’t you fucking leave me.” he muttered as he continued in his compressions. 

She couldn’t-not yet--not when she was finally there. She couldn’t--he refused to let her. She owed him answers. She owed him explanations. She couldn’t leave him---not when he still loved her. Suddenly, she coughed, water leaving her body as she gasped for air.

“Illia!” Her blue eyes fluttered half open, exhausted from her ordeal. 

 

Illia stared at the half gray sky and shivered at the feeling of a cold, bitter air against her skin. They had to be north, at least by several miles. But all of it faded away as she stared into the familiar pair of green eyes that haunted her memories.

“Joriell…” her voice was strained as quiet as exhaustion washed over her. “How-?” Her voice cracked as she began to cough up more blood and water. Except this time, the blood was darker, almost purple. And the feeling of numbness wasn’t disappearing. 

“Illia, you can’t speak. You have to cast your healing spell.” Joriell sputtered 

“Joriell-”

“You just have to cast the damn spell, even a little-”

“Joriell-”

“I can’t lose you again!”

He was desperate. She had never seen him like this, not even after his first transformation. So broken, so angry, and yet he was still so beautiful. Even while soaked and stained with blood and dirt, his hair and skin caked in sand and sweat; he was still just as beautiful as she remembered. And for the first time, she wasn’t ready to die. 

“Joriell…” her voice was barely a whisper as the tears began to well in her eyes. She tried to reach for him, but could only manage to twitch. He saw and took her hand, trying to warm her in any way he could. “I’m so...sorry.”

“Illia, don’t-”

“I lied---” she managed to get out “I love you---I--I always-I’m so sorry…”

“Illia…” Tears welled in his eyes, he held her hand tighter. Against his better judgement, his lips crashed against hers. She tasted of blood and salt and tears; as if all the torture that they had both endured over the past year was washing away. And she kissed him back, desperate to taste him one last time. 

Ice spread across her veins and suddenly, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She pulled away gasping, but still trying to cling to his hand. Her could feel her heart which had been clammering against her chest begin to slow. Until his image began to fade from view behind a veil of darkness, and her body fell limp. 

“Illia…” His voice cracked as he watched her fade away into nothingness. The life had left her body, leaving her even colder. They had wasted so much time, unwilling to trust the other person. If he had only reached Solitude sooner; if he had only remained by her side in Whiterun; if he had only saved her from the Thalmor. He pulled her closely to his chest as he wept in anguish and regret. Until anger washed over him. And so he screamed, the earth shaking beneath him in his rage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so it's taken me a lot of time with writing this chapter. I had this vision in my mind of how I wanted it to go and I'm still not entirely sure that I captured it correctly. Honestly, this is just a rough draft of this fanfic and I'll probably go back later and do some serious editing.   
>  So Illia's death has been a long time in the making. Ever since I started writing the story, I knew that she was going to die. I can understand if some people are angry, but it is so important for what is to come. So PLEASE KEEP READING!!! However, feel free to express your grief. Thanks guys!!!


	24. Chapter 24

_The fire crackled and sparked as the embers slowly began to die, yet the flames continued to cast a soft, golden glow over the two lovers as they laid, entangled in the furs that shielded them from the cold stone below. Joriell watched in silence as Illia’s chest rose and fell in steady breaths as she peacefully slept besides him. She was so beautiful.  For the first time in what felt like ages, her body was completely relaxed, not tensing in preparation for approaching battle. For so long, they had been on the run, constantly moving as they tracked the dragon threat and avoided soldiers from both sides. He hated the fact that he constantly kept her on the run, facing bandits and rogue mages. But it was the only way to keep them safe…to keep her safe. And still it was not enough._

_“Dragonborn,” Arngeir had said once they had finally settled in High Hrothgar. Illia had been out in the courtyard, reading some of the books that the monastery had to offer. Even if it was bitter cold, the girl had refused to read anywhere but outside. “The threat of the World Eater is growing stronger with each passing day.”_

_“I know, master.” Joriell had said as he watched the girl continue to read. The winds of High Hrothgar had calmed, causing a soft flutter of snow. Dressed in layers and layers of dark furs and an ebony cloak, Illia’s focus was solely on the pages of the old novel.  “I can feel their souls still. They’re like ripples in the water. Despite being so far away, I can still feel their influence. The skies grow darker with each passing day.”_

_“It’s good to know we did not teach a fool.” Arngeir had quipped, something he almost never did in Joriell’s presence. Yet, his ancient face fell serious and dark as he opened his mouth to speak. “Dez is preparing you to face Alduin in battle. As to whether you survive, I do not know. However, it’s not just the dragons that leave ripples in their path. Caution, Dragonborn, for you too leave ripples in your wake. And as we all know; the smallest ripple can create a storm with tragic consequences miles away.”_

_The old man’s words rang true, much to Joriell’s dismay. He didn’t know if he would return. What would happen to Illia? He knew how she felt about him, had known since their time in the Companions that she loved him. If she wanted to remain free, her best chances were outside of Skyrim. Would his influence keep her here? Would she be able to stay free from Ulfric?_

_“Arngeir, I—“Joriell began, choking on his words at the thought of her freedom being stolen from her. Worse: what if he did return and he still lost her? How long could they keep their freedom?_

_“Love can be selfish, Dragonborn.”_

_“Joriell…” she murmured as she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Her scent, honey suckle and roses, it clung to his skin. The way her blue irises stared at him with warmth and compassion; he couldn’t stand the thought of pushing her away. Joriell knew he was strong, that he could face dragons and twisted creatures and hundreds of men yet with a look, a single woman could destroy him. Ignoring all that he knew to be wise, he kissed her. Soft, supple, and warm, his tongue swept across her bottom lip before he gently bit down, causing her to gasp in his mouth. He ate the sound with pleasure as he pressed the small of her back so she was closer to him. Skin against skin, he was swimming in the heat of their combined flesh and ecstasy. He couldn’t let her go. He loved her too much. So, he continued to explore her body throughout the night, taking her again and again until the fire completely died out._

 

 

            The ocean waves crashed against the shores of Solitude’s northern borders. The once white sands were soaked in blood and filth, yet the Sea of Ghosts was quick to wash it away, to wash away any evidence of her. Joriell had managed to move himself from Illia’s body long enough to begin to form a pyre. He wasn’t close to being finished, didn’t have any of the oils he needed to do the burial rights, but he knew her body would be desecrated and butchered if he brought it to Solitude. Illia didn’t deserve that.

            His love…she had gone through so much in so little time. His heart broke for her. Her words…her last words to him were those of regret and love. She had never stopped loving him, had lied in order to what—protect him? He loved her; he wanted to be there for her. If she had only let him…

            Wood crashed against wood as he continued to stack the pyre. The branches were soaked from the sheets of ice and snow that covered the mountain region even in mid-summer. He would have to wait until the morning when the sun could dry out the branches to burn it. Lifting her frozen body, he placed it on top of the stacked wood, brushing the black strands from her face. He would burn her in the next morning, giving himself one more day to grieve. Then he would move on like she had told him to all those months ago.

           

            But how do you forget someone that once meant so much to you? Someone that you had shared your hopes and dreams with? Your body, your mind, your heart? Was it even possible? Joriell didn’t know, but he had to try.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Ethriel’s blade clashed against the metal of Vilkas’ shield. The boy was no older than thirteen with fawn colored curls that almost looked silver in the dim light reflecting from the sun. The older Companion grinned as he struggled against the blow, testing the boy’s strength. Ethriel smiled, his childish arrogance quickly going to his head.

“Good.” The warrior said with a wolfish grin as he quickly swept his shield at the boy’s feet, knocking him onto his back in a puff of dirt. “But you need to guard your lower half. Do not assume victory until your opponent is no longer breathing.”

 

            Sticking out his hand, he helped the teen to his feet, patting him on the shoulder as he stood. Ria stepped into the training yard with six-month-old Una in her hands. Excusing Ethriel from his training, Vilkas immediately greeted his wife with a kiss before taking the child from her arms. With a coo, Una began to try to tug at her father’s hair. Ethriel smiled before he approached couple. He played with Una’s hand for a moment, allowing her to grip his finger instead of Vilkas’ hair before he turned away to drink from his water skin.

“She’s refusing to eat…again.” Ria sighed in frustration “I have a job with Athis over in Rorikstead. Would you try to feed her some mashed-up carrots or something?”

“You’re too stressed, love.” Vilkas said with a grin as he began to make silly faces at the babe. “The pup will eat when she’s ready.”

“You’re too soft-hearted with her. She needs to eat, or she’ll be weak as she grows.” Ria chastised as she tried to hide the humor brewing her chest. Watching Vilkas ignore her to play with his daughter was a sight to see. She would have never imagined the man acting in such a way as his tongue stuck out his mouth. Una giggled at her father, drooling on her fists as she brought them to her mouth. “Vilkas-“

            Tongue stilling hanging out of his mouth, Vilkas’ silver eyes darted over in the direction of his wife. This time, the woman could not contain herself as she let out a soft chuckle. Walking over to him as she strapped one of the sword on the table to her hip, she kissed his cheek affectionately.

“Dear, do try to feed her.”

“I will.” He smiled before turning to Ethriel. “In the meantime, you should-“

 

            The sound of a bell echoed throughout the entire city. The Imperial who had been guarding the area around Jorrvaskr began to merge into units towards the city walls. Vilkas looked to Ria with concern before quickly handing Una to Ethriel.

“Take Una and the other girls down into the lower rooms of Jorrvaskr.” Vilkas said, his tone urgent and serious. “Guard them.”

“But—” The boy stuttered. Vilkas looked at the teen, knowing the fear that was coursing through his body. It was the same fear he had once had before his first battle. Most of the time, soldiers tended to leave civilians alone. However, neither the Stormcloaks nor the Imperials were known for their mercy. He couldn’t risk the girls.

“Do this, Ethriel.” The man said sternly as he handed the boy a sword. “They are your Shield Sisters; you’re family. Protect them.” Without another word, the boy nodded before rushing inside Jorrvaskr with the small babe.

 

            Ria looked to her husband with fear; fear not for the battle, but for the danger it placed her family in. The Redguard had never turned away from a battle, even when she knew she was outmatched. But this was different. She wasn’t in some distant town or foreign land. This was her home. And this was against her fellow countrymen. Vilkas grasped his shield and sword, leaving it unsheathed and ready for battle.

“Stay close to me.” The war maiden nodded, raising up her sword to face the battle ground once more.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Darren fell from his steed as a wave of magic flooded over his senses. He screamed in agony as he collapsed onto the road, but not from the fall. Cries of terror and loss echoed in his ears as he was overwhelmed with sorrow and despair. The earth trembled beneath him as he felt a spirit engulf him with a vision.

 

            _A dragon with eyes blazing brighter than a star and as red a blood beckoned him to approach, willing him to bend the knee, but Darren refused. A stillness hung in the air as he felt an entrapping mist surround the ethereal landscape. Sovngarde…he knew of this place, the land that haunted him dreams. The final resting place of all Nords was a land that Darren feared he would never reach, yet it was never this cold…_

_The dragon let out a Thu’um into the mist that surrounded him, causing it to clear. Surrounding was the city of Whiterun, burning to the ground as blood ran through the streets. Stormcloak soldiers and Imperial legionnaires continued in a bloody battle. Children called out to their mothers before being sliced down before the mage’s eyes, their voices silenced in an instant as the life left their eyes._

_“This isn’t real.” He whispered, trying to regain his composure. Surely the rebels, surely Ulfric would not allow such atrocities to happen during the battle. His war was with the Imperials, not the people of Skyrim._

_“Darren…” The mage turned to see a young Bosmer with flowing white hair and mocha skin. She was different from the other people in the vision. Cleaner, pure, untouched by the malicious violence that was consuming Whiterun._

_“Iyarah.” Darren stifled back tears of regret as he approached the spirit. So it was her---she had beckoned him to see this destruction. But why? Were these of things to come? Could it be stopped? Or was the future hopelessly entangled in a web of choices that made it impossible to avoid the city’s fate? So many questions ran through the man’s mind, however, all he could do was reach for his lost friend._

_“It’s me, Darren.” She whispered, her eyes filling with tears that she quickly blinked away. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her arms wrapped around him in an embrace as the vision began to turn to darkness. She stood before him, dressed in the same garb in which he had last seen her wearing. A pale, threadbare dressed, unfit for someone of her character and beauty._

_“I thought I would never see you again.” The mage managed to say. Even her scent was the same; pine and roses. “Although, I doubt this is just a friendly visit.”_

_“I wish it were.” She said, forcing herself to tear away from him. Wiping away a tear from her cheek, she swallowed hard to force herself into composure. “I fear the worst is yet to come, and you are the only one I know who can fix it.”_

_“I don’t understand-“_

_“Whiterun has fallen.” She said bluntly “Or at least she is as we speak. There is no saving her from her destruction. The Stormcloaks will conquer her, and Jarl Balgruuf will be killed alongside his family in the slaughter.”_

_“But Ulfric said-“_

_“Ulfric says a great many things. He says he does not hate the Dark Elves. He says that Skyrim is for the Nords. He says that he is fighting for freedom and not for power.” Iyarah said, her trembling voice revealing her rage. The Bosmer had watched so many of her people be slaughtered by the Nords, had watched as they had fallen into decay and were hated on both sides. There was no safe place for a Wood Elf to lay his head. “The Dragonborn---he is the only one that can restore the peace. The one that will bring peace to the war and preserve Nirn from the rule of Alduin. But he needs your aid.”_

_“Iyarah, I don’t even know where the Dragonborn is.”_

_“In Solitude, drowning in grief and misery.”_

_“Why?”_

_Iyarah paused, fighting the urge to weep at the news she was to bring her friend. For centuries, she had watched over him in his loneliness, wishing he would find some form of companionship. When the beautiful rogue, Illia, entered his life, everything had changed. She had been just as broken, but just as kind-hearted. She had fallen towards the wrong path, not uncommon among mortals, but at heart she was a good soul. And she loved him, accepted him for who he was, had wept openly for his pain. Darren hadn’t let anyone so close since Iyarah was alive._

_“I’m sorry, my friend…”_

_“Illia…” Her name hung on his lips as he began to feel the hot, acidic feeling of rage course through his veins. Empty tears began to fall from his lilac eyes. If only he had learned of Astrid’s plans sooner—he should have stopped her. “Is she at peace?”_

_“Yes.” Iyarah replied “Her soul…it is no longer broken. And yet, the gods are not through with her.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“The time has come, Darren.” Iyarah said “Your purpose has been made clear_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know it has been a very, very long time since I last published a chapter of Stormborn. Honestly, I have been really struggling with writer's block over the past month. It has been a bitch beyond reckoning but I appreciate you all sticking in there with me. I know this chapter is kind of short, but I will be publishing another chapter within a week or two. I have finally switched over to a permanent job which gives me plenty of time to writer. However, I'm not going to say that I will be perfect at publishing chapters because I do start my college classes again on Tuesday. However, I want you to know that I am going to do a sequel to Stormborn. It will be very interesting and I already have an idea of how it is going to flow in the works. In fact, some of what happens in Stormborn will set up things for the sequel. Again, thank you all so much for your patience and for all the love and support. :)


	25. Chapter 25

An orange glow was casted over the city of Whiterun as more buildings continued to fall victim to the Stormcloak’s advancement. The skies above the once impenetrable walls were dark from soot and ash that had fallen like raindrops onto the bloody streets. The city had not seen such violence in some millennia at least, and now it appeared it would finally fall at the hands of one of its brothers.

            Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist watched with bleak expressions as their armies clashed with those of Jarl Balgruuf’s. His fawn colored hair covering his gray eyes, Ulfric appeared to be a lion in the eyes of his men, stalking the kingdom that was surely his by right of strength; not birth. Their jarl had seen many battles, and remained undefeated at the hands of the Thalmor. Surely Whiterun would have joined their righteous king in combat. No—Jarl Balgruuf had grown fat from suckling on the Emperor’s teat. The time for gluttony and greed was over—a new age had begun in Skyrim. Ulfric only wished it had not come to this.

“If they will not bend the knee…” Ulfric said to Galmar, who had remained silent at his side “Then I will break it.”  With a nod, Galmar ordered the catapults to fire once more as Ulfric unsheathed his blade. Summoning more of his men, Ulfric charged into battle with only a few of Skyrim’s most loyal sons at his side.

 

            The Emperor’s men were not to be underestimated. They were sons and daughters of Skyrim as well, with burning hearts. They wished for Skyrim’s survival as well; they had simply fallen off the path that Talos had laid out for his people.

            Ulfric’s blade clashed with that of another young man’s. He was barely a man, barely old enough to grow his first chin hairs, with eyes so blue that Ulfric could swear he could see the waves from the Sea of Ghosts. Sweat poured down his pale face, his lips curled in a grimace although he could not hide his fear. This was the boy’s first battle. Ulfric knew it with only a glance. Long ago, he would have the same fear, but now he was fighting for something greater than himself. He was fighting for his home and his people and his god. If it meant he would have to strike down a child, he would do so, no matter how much it weighed heavily on his heart. Using his size and strength over the meager adolescent, he pushed him back only to quickly drive his blade through his chest before kicking his bleeding corpse away in disgust. He watched for but a moment as the boy wept and choked on the metallic tasting fluid that flooded his mouth before Ulfric continued in his assault against the city.

            Next to him, Ralof, one of his better soldiers, had just finished battling two soldiers when he turned to Ulfric. He was filthy with soot and blood, his blue armor stained crimson. His gaze told the soldier to press on and Ulfric followed quickly behind. His men provided him relief from the archers that were previously raining down arrows above him. Pushing himself further, he finally reached the gates of the city.

 

            Blood flowed through the streets as the roads were littered with bodies from both sides. Civilians had been caught in the midst of the chaos, becoming casualties in the process. A little girl, no older that nine years old, was lying bloody in the streets as her mother wailed with grief. Her tiny body looked as though it had been slashed open, her skin translucent and pale.

“Mila!” Her mother could barely scream through her tears as Jon Battleborn tried to pull her away from the child. He was right to. More men were beginning to pour into the cities street, and no woman would be safe from either side.

 

            Ahead of them, Ulfric could see his men surrounding the centered part of the shopping district. A thunderous cry could be heard above the men. Slicing down one of Ulfric’s soldiers, Vilkas kicked the poor sod away as he turned to face another one of the men. Adjacent from him, Aela continued in her assault, fighting to restrain her wolf from unleashing into its full form as she drew on its strength and speed.

“Ralof!” Ulfric called out to his soldier as he tried to think of a way to handle the situation. The Companions were considered true Nords in the region, their skills in battle would easily outmatch his own man. It was no wonder that Illia had run to them for protection. If they were fighting, she could still be in Jorrvaskr. “Tell the men to descend on Jorrvaskr. I want the building to be ashes.”

“Yes, sir.” The golden-haired man whistled to a few of their soldiers, guiding them towards the ancient building.

            Ulfric’s grip tightened on his blade as he and the rest of the men made their way towards the circle. Vilkas’ icy gaze was filled with hatred and disgust. Pushing the soldiers out of his way, he made his way to meet blade to blade with the jarl. Metal clashed against metal in the heat of battle.

 

            Vilkas was stronger than Ulfric had anticipated. His teeth formed an enraged snarl, his canines sharpened and shining in the orange glow of the light. Ulfric could taste the sweat and rage radiating from his skin, he could even smell the blood and filth. There was no way that the Companion would submit to him. He pushed back, his veins expanding from the effort of moving the warrior. He was like a wall of pure muscle and focus; his blade would taste Ulfric’s blood.

“Get out of my city.” Vilkas growled “I will not give you another chance.”

“I will not surrender---not to you, whelp.” Ulfric’s gaze was almost enough to command Vilkas to bend his knee. Were all men who could speak the dragon language this intimidating? How had Illia refused such a presence?

“Then die with the rest of your dogs.”

 

            The wolf collided with the bear, their growls echoing throughout the city. Ulfric drove his fist into Vilkas’ gut, causing the warrior to stammer for a moment before he swung back. His fist met the jarl’s jaw, drawing blood to his bottom lip. Ulfric spat with an angered grin before meeting the warrior once more with his blade. Vilkas managed to dodge the blow before elbowing Ulfric once more, this time causing blood to rush from his teeth. The wolf grinned, attempting to drive his blade into the bear, only to find that Ulfric had deflected his attack once more.

“I love a challenge.” Vilkas laughed as he pulled his blade back once more. “Too bad your runaway bride is a worthier opponent than you.”

              Ulfric felt his rage turn venomous in his veins, but he maintained his composure. Vilkas was smart, he could give him that. One of the easiest mistakes a fighter could make was to rely on his rage for his strength. It made him sloppy and unbalanced.

“Trust me, she won’t be a runaway for long.”

            Ulfric attacked once more, this time managing to slice Vilkas shoulder. The wolf only seethed more. This time, his eyes were focused on the prey, not the horizon. His home, his wife, his daughter; all of them were counting on him. He would make sure that they were safe, even if he had to die in the process. Ulfric fought for his country and for his crown. Vilkas’ will was stronger…he had to believe that.

            Ulfric’s blade only met the air as Vilkas bended back in order to avoid the blow, narrowly missing his throat. Using his blade, he deflected Ulfric’s weapon so it fell to the ground. Just as he went to deliver the final blow, he found himself being flung across the stone along with other soldiers surrounding them. A cry from Ria echoed in his ears as he heard her hit the stone harshly. A Thu’um? So, the rumors were true. Ulfric did know the language of the dragons.

            Ria’s chestnut colored eyes finally moved away from the battles that were being fought around her. More soldiers were entering the city, some heading towards Imperial soldiers, while others headed towards Dragonsreach. However, what caught her attention was the dark, cloud of smoke forming over the Wind District. She screamed as she realized Jorrvaskr was being burned to the ground.

“Una!” she screamed in terror as she grasped her blade and began to rush towards Jorrvaskr. Vilkas looked towards the Wind District.

“You bloody coward!” he picked up his blade and readied himself to charge once more, but Ulfric spoke in the dragon tongue once more. Vilkas was off his feet and bloody on the stone. The jarl approached him as he lay defenseless on his back, holding the blade to the wolf’s throat.

            “Bend the knee, brother.” Ulfric said “There need not be more blood.” Vilkas sized him up with his cold, silver eyes and then clashed his blade against Ulfric’s. The Nord took a step back, allowing the wolf back to his feet. Vilkas grasped the hilt of his sword, and charged at Ulfric at a speed that would have terrified men of lesser stature.

            Their blades clamored in an echo of growls and strife, determined to draw the other’s blood. Adrenaline was the only power causing movement throughout Vilkas’ body, but Ulfric could not be swayed. He would end this man if he had to.

 

            Vilkas pushed against Ulfric with all of his strength with Ulfric barely managing to keep him at bay. Using his strength to his advantage, Vilkas maintained control of Ulfric’s blade before knocking him off balance once more with his muscular arm. The bear sucked in a breath as he readied for his next attack, this time aiming for Vilkas’ legs. The warrior was unprepared, but managed to leap and avoid the blow, but fell. Just as Ulfric was about to deliver the final blow, they heard a cry break out throughout the air.

“Vilkas!” Ethriel was rushing to the field with Sophie and Lucia following closely behind. In his arms, he held Una in his arms. She was crying unconsolably in fear and yearning for her mother. All of them reeked of smoke and ash. But Ethriel was desperate to stop the fighting. “Ria---a beam!! She’s trapped!”

            Ulfric stayed his blade at the sight of the boy, knowing full well that an honorable Nord like Vilkas would never start an attack without his opponent knowing full well that he was going to attack. His blood turned cold at this mistake. He had believed the flames would drive Illia from the flames. He hadn’t imagined that children would be hiding within the walls of Jorrvaskr. He turned to his soldiers.

“Find the woman.” He said before his gaze returned to Vilkas. He helped the Nord to his feet, keeping his blade ever present near his throat. “The city is lost, Companion. There is nothing you can do to save it. But you can save yourself and your family. Bend the knee.”

“Never.”

            “You would sell your life for your pride. Are you really such a fool?” Ulfric was stunned. It was rare that men would hold their ground with death so near. Especially with the threat of their family being present as well.

“What kind of Nord would I be if I bowed to a usurping dog like you?” Vilkas said, spitting at the ground near Ulfric’s feet. “No—I’d rather my daughter know that her father was a man of honor. So, do what you must. You’ll get no respect from me.”

“You leave me no choice then.” Ulfric said, kicking out at Vilkas so that he fell on his knees, his neck exposed for Ulfric’s blade. “I’ll see that your family is taken care of.”

            Raising his blade, he was just about to bring it down when a voice called for him to stop. Vignar Gray-Mane rushed to the jarl’s side. The old man was out of breath, but determined to reach the man before he carried out his sentence.

“Don’t do this, Ulfric.” He gasped “The Companions are true sons and daughters of Skyrim. If you kill them, you will forever lose the respect of your people.”

“I’ll lose their respect if I don’t.” Ulfric countered although his hand did quiver at the thought. “What kind of man am I if I don’t carry out my word?”

“One capable of mercy and humility when another is not.” Vignar spoke boldly. “One worthy of Skyrim and her people; one worthy of being king.”

 

            Ulfric paused, drinking in the man’s words before he finally sheathed his blade once more. Vilkas stared up in confusion as he realized that Gray-Mane was the traitor among their people. He had sold out the city to Ulfric Stormcloak.

“Has Balgruuf surrendered?” Ulfric questioned.

“He has.” Vignar replied, reading the expression of betrayal on Vilkas’ face. “He awaits in Dragonsreach for you.”

“Good—then you shall take over as Jarl of Whiterun, effective immediately.”

 

            Vilkas stared in disgust at the old man. Vignar had been a man held in the highest regards among the Companions. It was his brother that provided the warriors with their steal, his sister-in-law would often bake in celebrations before her son had been captured by the Imperials. Their family would have rather died than be caught in back-handed deals. Vilkas spit at his feet.

“You’re unworthy of your name.” he growled “You and Balgruuf are no different. He may have grown fat off of the Emperor’s milk, but you suckle on the teat of a lesser man.”

“I did this for Skyrim!” Vignar called out in his anger “I did this for Talos.”

“You did this for yourself!” Vilkas snarled, knowing full well that if he was still cursed that he would have changed and killed the old man. “Tell me, Vignar, how many men have died so you could become the Jarl of Whiterun?”

“Enough!” Ulfric cut in. “Vignar is a true Nord. He will serve his country well.” The sound of boots clamoring against the stone caught the men’s attention. In his arms, Ralof carried an unconscious Ria. The fabric of her armor was singed and she smelled of ash. Pushing Ulfric aside, Vilkas rushed to her side, pulling her away from the fair-haired Nord and resting her in his lap on the stones. A bloody would hovered above her brow from where a beam had fallen admist the chaos of Jorrvaskr. But she was strong, and she was still breathing. That was all Vilkas could pray for.

 

            Against every ounce of his will, Whiterun had fallen. Countless men and women and children had been slaughtered. Jorrvaskr had been burned to the ground. All of it at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak and Vignar. He had failed.

 

 

            Illia walked along the beaten path, not knowing where it would lead. She had woken at the beginning of it, at the bottom of a broken staircase with no memory as to how she arrived. As quickly as she had stood, the mist, a heavy fog which smelled of wildflowers and magic, surrounded her. It separated her from the endless fields and meadows that she had seen moments ago, leaving her dizzy and lost. The only thing that was familiar was the armor which shielded her from the terrible chill in the air. Tight, brown and leather; her old armor fit her like a glove, as if it was a part of her skin. Yet, her daggers and her bow were missing. All she could rely on was her light footing.

            Try as she may, she was unable to remember the events that had led her to the misty grove. Sensations of a cold wetness would run across her skin, yet her mind would once again be clouded by the scent of wild flowers and lavender. Whatever this place was, it was tainted thickly by an old magic, bewitching her mind and spirit.

 

            She continued along, following the curve of the stone to the best of her ability. Although her training told her to be more aware of her surroundings, all she could do was watch her feet in order to follow the old stone. She wasn’t sure what her destination was, but her body told her that it was north of where the stairs had been. If she followed the path, surely, she would get there.

            The deeper she traveled, the more her mind was encumbered by the feeling of being hunted, causing her to move more swiftly. Soon, she found herself in an open field, clear of the midst. The path had disappeared and its place was a vast valley that was blanketed by mountain flowers and lavender. A chilling dew had settled itself on the petals of the new blooms, wetting her boots with mud and rain as she approached the very center of the clearing. What was this place?

            The wind around her began to pick up in speed, whipping her raven hair until she was blinded by the black curtain. A terrifying roar echoed throughout the valley, causing the midst to surround her except for the clear sight of the sky. Millions of stars, both orange and blue, were suddenly blackened out by the shadow of a great beast, as dark as midnight and as fearsome as a mountain troll. A dragon with sunset colored eyes landed in front of her in the grove, flames escaping from the gaps of his razor teeth.

_“Aan joorlost gahrot dii_ suleyksejun: _so kah…”_ his language poured from his jaw, his eyes glittering with delight at her confusion. “You do not even know our tongue. No matter.”

“Who are you?” Illia asked, pulling her strands of hair out of her face. So many months had passed, but surely this was the legend that caused fear to run through the bravest of men: Alduin the World Eater. But how, how was he here? And how had he captured her? “Where have you taken me?”

“I have taken you nowhere, mortal.” He hissed, his disdain for her falling like venom from his lips. “You have entered Sovngarde from your own accord, trespassed in my realm.”

“Sovngarde—but I’m not---”

“Oh, but you are.” Alduin grinned “I know you very well, Illia Stormborn; the noble whore that killed my kin alongside the Dovahkiin. I should be thanking you---I had spread word that the Dovahkiin was mind. You both weeded out the weak and unruly within my brothers.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Yours is a soul sweet for the taking.” Alduin grinned, raising his head so that he was above her. “How fitting would it be to destroy the Dovahkiin with the power from his harlot’s soul.”

 

                His jaw opened to reveal an army of fangs that could easily tear through her flesh as if it were butter. In the back of his throat, she watched in horror as a red and orange ball of light began to flicker. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and somehow she managed to leap away as the flames engulfed the area in which she had been standing. Without glancing backwards, she was running into the mists in an attempt to save her life.

“You can run, but you are merely prey.” Alduin growled “No one can escape my trap.”

                More the mist began to surround her, engulfing her vision and making it nearly impossible to breathe. Yet, her feet continued to carry her through the fields, until she found herself once again without direction. She knew not where Alduin had retreated to, but she knew he would not rest until she was in his clutches. He wanted Joriell to suffer, and he would use her to do it.  Black shadows shrouded the starlit sky once more, and Illia continued to flee as flames rained down the sky. Could she truly outrun Alduin? She had to try. If his words were true, she was already dead—she wasn’t about to give up the remains of her soul.

 

                She continued to race, blinded in the fog and tripping over her feet in the effort, but she was growing weary. Still, she willed herself to run until a hollowed cave caught her attention. It wouldn’t last for long, but it would provide some rest as Alduin continued to hunt her in his trap. Clinging to the darkness of the wall, she fell to her knees, out of breath and tired of fighting. Truly there was no rest for the wretched and wicked. Her iniquities and trespasses had led her to this place; where she would be forever hunted and tormented by the World Eater. Was this truly the resting place of the Nords? She didn’t know.

                Her frost colored eyes peered out to see the landscape, hoping to catch a glimpse of the demon pursuing her, but to no avail. He was out there, that much was certain. She sighed in frustration, returning to her resting place by the wall when she suddenly felt herself be pulled into a strong grasp, keeping her from fleeing, but silencing her screams.

“I finally found you.” A familiar voice echoed in her ears, instantly soothing her. Darren’s slim hands fell from her lips, and she turned to face him while still in his embrace. His thin fingers ran through her hair as his lilac colored eyes continued to examine her. How was he there? Had he passed as well? No---if Darren had passed, he would have been returned to the Soul Cairn. No-some other magic was at foot here.

“Darren, how—” Before she could speak another word, Alduin’s chilling cry broke throughout the hold, and she feared it splitting the very sky itself. The earth trembled beneath their feet, causing both Darren and the rogue to fall to their knees.

“There’s no time.” Darren whispered. “You must come with me.” Not giving her any time to protest, the mage dragged her behind him, fleeing into Alduin’s mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It has been a while. Writer's block is still the thorn in my side, but I was recently listening to some older music that I enjoyed in high school. It felt like a flood gate had opened and the gears in my mind has clicked and all of a sudden, I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this chapter. Please feel free to comment and give feedback, I love hearing from you guys. Thank you for all the support. Enjoy!!! :)


	26. Chapter 26

Her lungs felt like they were burning, the mist choking her as she felt weak under its grasp. Illia struggled to keep moving, her feet almost floating above the grass from how quickly her legs were carrying her. The scent of the mountain flowers had become sickly sweet, and she realized now that the haze she had been succumbing to had been a trap laid down by Alduin. He was gathering the souls of the fallen, feeding on them so his power would grow. How much power had Alduin gathered from the ongoing civil war? How much power had Illia personally given him?

 

                Her boots were soaked in mud and filth, her long hair wet and frizzy from the mist. Darren, however, was focused to take her to whatever destination he had in mind. He hadn’t spoken much, but his hand was tightly gripped on hers as he guided her in their sprinting pace. Was he dead too? It wasn’t possible. He would have been banished to the Soul Cairn. How was he there?

                Her mind didn’t have time to wonder at the possibilities. Above them, the stars had grown darker, though she wasn’t sure if it was from Alduin, or the smoke from his flames. Yet, the darkness continued to shroud the sky, except for the single full moon that lingered above them.

“Darren, what is happening?” she asked as she watched in horror as the once glittering landscape become shrouded in darkness and the silver moon morph into the color of blood. The red and black landscape slowly allowed the mountain flowers to wither and turn to ash and the mists grew even more heavy and dark. Darren paused, his lilac colored eyes wide from the metamorphosis.

“We need to go.”

“Darren, there is nowhere for me to run to.” Illia finally protested. She stood solid in her tracks, her hands shaking from her anger and fear. Why was he here? Was this her torment? To have the vision of hope dangled in front of her, but unable to reach her? Was this the gods way of punishing her? Was Darren truly real? “Darren, I am dead. I am trapped here.”

“No, you’re not.” Darren said, his tone almost angry at her defeat. His skin looked almost silver in the light, his eyes the only source of outside color. No—this was Darren, the same man she had seen under the star in Windhelm; beautiful and deadly. He pulled her into a crushing embrace, almost unwilling to let her go. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, the slight trembling on his breath; he was terrified. “I need you to trust me.”

                His fingers entwined with hers once more and they continued to run. Silvery orbs began to litter the fog, beginning to shift into new creatures and shapes. Yet, Illia could not make them out as she ran until Darren came to a grinding halt.

 

                In front of them was the same pair of glittering red eyes that no doubt haunted Joriell’s dreams. The World Eater grinned. At this distance, Illia could finally make out all of his midnight features. His wings had been ripped and torn, littered with scars from battling his kin for his position. His teeth were smeared in an ebony tar that reeked of blood and ash. No wonder the ancient Nords would have so easily bowed in his presence. He was the essence of a wrathful god.

                Yet what terrified them the most was not the devil that stood before them. A little girl, no older than nine, was weeping at the monster’s feet. Illia recognized her small little ghost immediately. Mila was trapped by the black wall of Alduin’s tail. Illia instinctively moved in an attempt to save the small girl, but Darren kept a tight grip on her. Within moments, Illia watched in horror and Alduin devoured the soul of the small child, forever ridding her from the world. Illia screamed, tears flooding her eyes and falling into Darren’s arms. How was Joriell to face _this?_ Alduin’s voice shifted as more the tar fell from his lips.

“ _Mortals…you speak of love and compassion yet you send a child to Sovngarde in the midst of your greed and ambition. “_ Alduin growled with a gloating smile. _“I am the cleansing that Tamriel needs. Do you see the results if you rule over yourselves?”_

“You will fall.” Darren said, his skin shining bright amongst the darkness. He looked different amongst the veil of Sovngarde, as if the air was stripping away his mortal skin to reveal the ancient soul that lay beneath. His eyes were focused and unrelenting, his mind set on the horizon. It made Illia want to weep.

                _“You dare stand against me, mage.”_ Alduin’s eyes were furious. No mortal had ever stood so disobedient before him without consequence.   _“Give me the woman. Her soul belongs to me.”_

“Never.”

_“Then perish alongside her.”_  Flames poured from his lips, yet Darren barely moved. Raising his hand to air, he created a ward, shielding them both from the dragon’s wrath. Darren’s arm tightened around Illia’s waist, pulling her closer to him to shield her from the flames.

                “Illia…” Darren yelled above Alduin’s roar. His midnight colored hair whipped behind him from the winds the flames were creating. His eyes looked even brighter, so purple that they shined like unflawed amethysts. “I need you to think of somewhere. Anywhere from here.”

                Illia was confused, her mind scrambling, but Darren’s words were urgent. She breathed in slowly, allowing her train of thought to relax until finally the memory she wanted flooded her mind. There was a break in the flames, and Darren’s ward fell. A flash of white light washed over Illia’s eyes until she was once again consumed by darkness.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

                Blue eyes fluttered open to drink in the silvery, starlit sky. The air was cold, clinging to Illia’s pale skin from beneath the furs of her cloak. Beneath her, she felt the shifting of waves and the soft splashes of water. Snow fell softly onto the white blanketed hills that surrounded them. Below, the river’s waters reflected the trillions of the stars that littered the skies above. Illia was once again entranced by their beauty, enamored by ethereal image.

“I remember this night.” Darren whispered, resting their boat’s paddle on his knees. “You had slept so peacefully, and I could not help but watch you. I think I loved you even then.”

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere that Alduin cannot touch us. You are safe here.”

 

                Illia measured the expression on Darren’s face. His look was a mask of pain and sorrow. Even while safe from Alduin’s wrath, her friend was terrified. Moving closer to him, Illia rested her hand against his cheek, her thumb stroking it in comfort. A tear fell from his eyes, which she wiped away.

“Why do you weep?”

                He could read the fear and confusion in her eyes. He swore he would drown in them if he could. She was so beautiful and so strong. He knew she viewed herself as a broken and worthless creature, but he knew her heart from the moment he met her. She loved so deeply, without restraint and with sacrifice. She had sold her own happiness in order to give Joriell freedom. She had fallen down a dark path which led her to this place, but she still had a heart. She was stronger than what she even realized.

“You know that I love you, right?” His hand rested on hers while the other stroked her cheek.

“And I love you too.” She answered back. It was strange. She did love Darren. She loved him more deeply than she could convey. He had won her heart, had stuck by her side above all else, had seen her as…Illia. He had not pitied her, but he had understood her. He was kinder to her than what she deserved. He was witty and brooding and wise. He had won her heart just as equally as Joriell. But he had done more than that; he had healed it.

                His lips pressed against hers once more, desperate and aching. She could feel his fear, could feel his trembling, but what was stronger was his need. He needed her so desperately that it nearly frightened her, but in that moment, she needed him just as much.

 

                Her hands found the buttons of his shirt, and slowly she began to unbutton them. She felt him tense, pulling away to look her in the eyes. She sat frozen, unable to break away from his gaze. He seized her lips once more, this time his hands entangling in the raven locks of her hair as he laid her along the bottom of the boat. Her legs wrapped around his waist in response as electricity ran wild through her veins. She hadn’t felt so alive and unafraid in what felt like ages. His hands explored every curve of her body; the sharp edges of her hips, the curve of her thighs, the softness of her clothed breast.

“Illia…” Her name hung heavy on his voice as he pulled on the strings of her corset. She aided him willingly, so that she was completely exposed to him.

“Make love to me.” She whispered, reading the hesitation in his eyes. He kissed her again in response, this time his lips trailing down her jaw and further down her neck and shoulder. Every touch was gentle, filled with so much care and intimacy. Her fingers found their way back to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them one by one at an aching pace until she could finally feel his skin against hers. Goosebumps spread across her skin from the chillness of the air, but the heat from their ministrations quickly warmed her skin. They stripped off the rest of their clothes, desperate to no longer be separated from one another.

                His tongue swept across her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of her more fully as he pulled her even closer to him. With no more fear, no more shame, and no more anger; he sheathed himself within her heat and made love to her throughout the night.

 

                When Illia awoke, she found herself wrapped in the warmth of her furs. Darren’s arms still surrounded her, and it was clear that he had been watching her sleep for quite some time. Sitting up, she pulled the furs tighter around her.

“I’ll need to return.” Illia said, her eyes filled with focus and determination. Darren approached her slowly and lifted her so that she was sitting on the edge of the boat, his shoulders giving her balance. “Someone needs to help guide the souls through Sovngarde. It’s the only way to ensure that Alduin does not gain more power.”

“I know.” Darren said, kissing her hands. “I love you, Illia Stormborn. You are more loved than you can possibly imagine.”

“I love you too.” Illia replied “That is why you must aid Joriell.”

“Tis true, I shall aid Joriell in his battle against Alduin.” Darren replied, his eyes focused on her, absorbing every feature of her face. “I promise you that you and I shall be together again. But I must ask you of something.”

“Anything.” Illia’s heart was pounding in her chest. She would do anything for Darren. Her heart burned for him even more vibrantly. He was a part of her and she was a part of him. He had renewed her spirit. She knew her role now; to aid the Dragonborn from the afterlife.

“Forgive me.”

“I do not understand.” She said, her eyes confused. Darren’s eyes filled with tears once more. This time he stood, kissing her forehead and resting his hand once more on her cheek. The blood was rushing through Illia’s veins. Something was wrong.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, his tears from his cheeks onto her skin. His eyes met hers once more as he brushed his lips against her lips. “I need you to live for me.”

“What?”

 

                His hands pushed her off the boat and into the water. Illia kicked and screamed, trying to reach the surface, but felt herself only be dragged further down into the abyss. Above her, Darren remained standing on the boat. In the reflection of the moon, she could see the light falling onto his silvery skin, his eyes growing more vibrantly purple. Until he vanished from view.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

                “Darren!!!” Illia rose screaming, choking on the feeling of air entering her lungs. She coughed and heaved, the sea tainted air almost poisoning her lungs with its gift of life. Sand clung to her skin and she screamed in agony as she felt her skin begin to weave itself back together once more. She reeked of blood and water, her mouth putrid with the taste of salt. But none of that mattered. Tears poured in rivers down her cheeks, her heart felt like it was breaking as she felt it pounding like a drum against her chest.

“Illia…” A voice whispered in disbelief next to her. Her blurred vision clearing, she looked to see Joriell staring at her. His green eyes fluttered with so many emotions at once. She had been dead. Dead for nearly a day now. How? He didn’t care how. She was living and breathing in his arms, her skin warm with life.

 

                                                She was alive.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter has been in my mind for many months now. And I had an idea in my mind of what would be said and what would happen. Darren's character has such a significant role in this novel and writing this chapter had me shaking and almost openly weeping. The song that I wrote this to is called Sad Piano Music - Loss (Original Composition) by Lucas King. You can find it on Youtube. 
> 
> In case it wasn't clear, because I probably won't explain it in the following chapters, what Darren did was he traded his soul in exchange for Illia's. He took on her death so she wouldn't have to bear the consequences of her actions and so she could have a second chance at life. This is last chapter he will have a role in this novel. Which is really hard because I love his character so deeply. But thank you all for your comments and support. This morning I read a comment and I just knew I had to publish this chapter today. Thank you.


	27. Chapter 27

Three days had passed and still she had not spoken. When they had reunited with Gem in Dragonbridge, the thief had informed them of what had transpired in Whiterun. Ulfric had placed Vignar Graymane on the throne as jarl of the booming city, but at a terrible price. In total, fifteen hundred men had been slaughtered amongst the chaos, but civilian causalities had also been in the hundreds. One of which was Carlotta’s daughter Mila, the one whom Illia had seen in Sovngarde. Ria had been injured, but according to the letter than Vilkas had sent, she was well. However, all of the Companions had been placed on watch by the city guard. No one was to leave the Breezehome, the once vacant lodging, where now the Companions were forced to spend their days until Jorrvaskr was rebuilt. Vilkas had assured them that they were all doing well although the children were in shock. The young boy, Ethriel, had grown mostly mute due to his guilt. He blamed himself for Ria’s injuries. But despite all of this, good news had reached the mercenaries. Athis and Torvar had decided that they would finally wed, and the pair were in the process of the traveling to Riften in order to be married within the Temple of Mara. And it seemed that Vilkas’ family was going to continue to grow. Ria was with child once more, and despite all the odds, the growing babe had remained unharmed in the attack.

            And still, Illia would not speak. Joriell knew nothing of what had transpired, nor how the girl had been restored, but it made no difference. He only wished she would share her burdens with him. Gem had also grown cold towards him with Illia’s return, but unlike Illia, her reasons were more obvious.

“You love her still.” Her chocolate colored eyes were dull and nearly black. In truth, the pair had never discussed if more would come about in their relationship, but question of it had crossed Joriell’s mind more than once. He didn’t know if he loved Gem. He cared deeply for her, would try all in power to protect her and spare her from harm and yet…he wasn’t sure if it was the same love that she was seeking. And so, he felt shameful for it. He had lied with her on more than one occasion, she had been there for him throughout his trials, and yet…

            He knew the truth, the one he had cursed himself for over and over again. Despite Gem’s beauty, despite her unconditional affection, despite everything that made her perfect in his eyes: she was not Illia. That woman would be the death of him. She had broken his heart, abandoned him, lied to him, and still being parted from her was an even deeper form of agony. He would fight for her, kill for her, die for her; he was in love with her.

“I’m sorry, Genevieve.” He whispered. He loathed himself for hurting her. Gem deserved better than what he had to offer her. Tears pooled in her eyes, which she quickly sniffed away in her attempt of maintaining her dignity. She turned but paused as she heard him take in a breath to speak once more. “Will you leave?”

            She looked back; this time her expression full of determination and gentleness. He had broken her heart and still she looked at him with warmth and love. He wished he could love her the way she deserved to be. She was more than a good woman; she was perfect.

“Never.” She finally said, her voice never wavering. “Where she has left, I shall remain always.”

 

 

            Joriell’s thoughts were swimming with the memory as he continued to sharpen his blade. They had been catching their breath at the Sleeping Giant Inn, but with Stormcloaks occupying Whiterun, the entire hold was now dangerous for all of them. They would have to move on to Sky Haven Temple before the Stormcloaks regained their numbers and began their reoccupation in the Reach. Joriell sighed, strapping his sword to his side and watching the dreary town from outside his bedroom window. Rain continued to pour on the small town, and despite this, the people continued to work. The echo of hammers meeting wood as men attempted to fix the leaking roofs were loud and vibrant. Alvor’s forge continued to exude smoke and ash from his metal working. Above the lively noises, he had almost missed the sound of Illia’s footsteps entering his room.

“Hi.” Her voice was a whisper. She looked exhausted, her skin paler than normal. Her features were sharp and almost hollow; he knew not from the exhaustion or as if she was ill. Her blue eyes stared back at him, unsure of how he would greet her.

“Come on in.” he said, “You can shut the door behind you.” He tried to remain calm although his heart was pounding through his chest and his palms were damp with sweat. How this woman continued to have such a hold over him, he would never understand.

            Illia shut the door quietly before she approached him. She sat on the bed beside him, stiff and anxious. A million things were racing through her mind at once. One of the men she loved was dead; Darren had sacrificed himself for her. After all they had been through together, she had hoped---she didn’t know what she had hoped for. Because as much as her heart longed for Darren, it ached for the Dragonborn. At times she felt like she couldn’t breathe. For so many months, she had felt hollow and cold. And now…her heart felt so full she didn’t know if she could take it. More than anything, she yearned to touch him, to just be held in his arms again. But then, her mind would remind her that like Darren, he too could face the same fate. Alduin was not a force to be underestimated. She knew that now. After facing so many dragons with Joriell, she had grown used to seeing Joriell always come through. But he was mortal; he could bleed; he could die. And the thought of that scared her more than anything.

“Delphine told me that you plan on traveling to Sky Haven Temple.” She finally said, clearing her throat as she tried to even her tone.

“Yes.” He replied, his eyes focused on the ground. “There’s no doubt that she told you that it is in the center of a Forsworn camp.”

“She is nothing if not forward.” Illia smiled weakly. She finally looked at him, the soft tresses of her hair falling in front of her face. She tucked the raven curtain behind her ear, her eyes looking somewhat brighter. She looked lighter. As if the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I would like to accompany you, if I may.”

“Illia, if you need time-“

“I no longer need time, Joriell.” Illia said, although her tone remained kind. “I’ve wasted enough time in my search for revenge. Emperor Tiber Septim is dead, the Thalmor more will no longer seek my presence for the time being, and as far as anyone knows, I’m dead. There will never be another opportunity like this for me to help you.”

            Her hand rested on his; gentle and smooth. There were now small calluses on her palms from the amount of battering and bruising she had learned to endure. Their fingers laced together, for a moment, and Joriell squeezed her palm gently. Electricity was flowing through his veins along with an unspoken relief. She was safe at last…and yet…

            Joriell pulled his hand away, though not unkindly. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, but she quickly hid it once more behind the veil of her soft glance.

“For a moment,” he began “I felt as though my heart had followed you to Sovngarde. The world no longer mattered, and I found myself regretting the very thing that I am. If I were not the Dragonborn, I wouldn’t have been distracted and I would have found you soon. Even if I was too late, I would have followed you into the Brotherhood. If—”

“I wouldn’t have let you.” She said, breaking him from his cycle of despair. “I said those things to you because I had been broken. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you following me and facing the same fate.”

 

            She took his hand in hers once more and kissed his knuckles. Lips warm and full of redemption, Joriell felt as though his heart could finally beat once again.

“I love you, Joriell.” She finally whispered, her sapphire eyes meeting his once more. In the deep encompassing forest of his irises, she could see the sorrow she had caused. The doubt, the regret, the shame; she had nearly broken him in her pride. She never wanted to cause him such sorrow again. “And I am so sorry. I pushed you away when we needed each other the most, I abandoned you in my anger. I was so selfish and foolish. If I could take it all back, I would. I would have opened my heart to you that night and never went on that foolish errand-“

            His lips clashed against hers, swallowing her words and replacing them with comfort. She whimpered against him, her body relaxing under his touch in awe and disbelief. She had ached for him in a way so deeply that she didn’t even realize it was possible. The emptiness in her heart, the small cracks and scars felt stronger and forgiven as he pulled her closer in his arms. Her fingers laced themselves within the mane of his hair, pulling him closer as his arms grew tighter around her waist. Illia could feel the beating of his heart pounding against her chest as they fell onto the bed. Their bodies entangled with the furs of the blankets; Illia felt Joriell’s hand move from her waist to cheek, stroking it with a rough and callused thumb. He pulled away gently, moving to kiss the rest of her face with soft kisses that heightened her senses before he kissed the top of her forehead. Resting his against hers, he stared into her eyes, unwilling to break away from her gaze as his continued to brush the softness of her cheek.

“Never leave me again.” He whispered softly, the edges of his face relaxed. Illia wrapped her arms tighter around him, resting her head on his chest. His breath was steady and calm, and she smiled with how natural it felt to be in his arms again. She felt as though she had returned home.

“I promise, I’ll never leave again.”

 

 

            The air was thick with mist and moisture. It had taken two days to navigate through the mountains of the Reach, the terrain treacherous and unforgiving. On more than one occasion, rocks had collapsed along the mountain side, creating a ripple effect that would ruin the path and make it nearly impossible for the party to travel.

            Illia had been more than grateful that her ruined, Brotherhood armor had been replaced with her old set. The tight leather fit her like a glove, although she had been forced to tighten the strings more than what she had anticipated. Not the mention the soles of her boots were much thicker. In her Brotherhood armor, she would feel almost every pebble and stone on the ground. She was sure her feet were as strong as steel now. The chainmail, which had once felt heavy, was light on her frame.

            Gem, as the thief came to be known, had invested in some of her resources in order to retrieve one of her special armor sets. The color of ebony, intricate designs laced across her chest and body, forming the shape of a raven. The girl was so tiny, Illia was surprised she was able to move so swiftly with the metal, although there did seem to be some dark magic lingering on the fabric. The smell of black licorice lingered over her, and the rogue found herself staring in amazement as she strapped a gleaming silver sword onto her hip. Its hilt was made of ebony, but the blade was of a different sort. Light but strong, there was no doubt in her mind that the metal was quicksilver. Her bow was made in a similar fashion, strapped tightly to her back along with several ebony arrows. The last few items she had gathered, lockpicks, healing potions, and bandages, were tucked away in her side satchel.

            The girl was fast and nimble, her eyes trained on noticing any future dilemmas that could interfere with their plans. She had often taken point, although Joriell couldn’t help but think that maybe it was more to avoid him than to protect the group. Before long, they had finally reached the outskirts of the Forsworn camp, and there were definitely more than what they had bargained for. Leaning over the edge of the mountain pass, the group lied flat on their stomachs in order to avoid detection.

            Scents of blood and black licorice permeated the air surrounding the heathen camp. The winds carried the smells of Hagravens and Briarhearts; like rotting flesh and a sickly-sweet flower that made Illia’s stomach turn. The taste of them lingered on her tongue, making her want to gag. There were no children in their village, but the sight of Hagravens didn’t make that surprising. The witches were known for burning the flesh of younglings in their sick rituals for power. The pagans didn’t know any better. There was at least fifty of them in total, including the Briarhearts and witches. Meaning each of them would have to defeat ten enemies. That was easier said than done. Although Esbern was adept at spell castings, the man was old and susceptible to attack. Delphine could handle herself well, but she too was older and had not battled in quite some time. The brunt of the fighting would have to fall on Illia, Joriell, and Gem.

“We’ll need cover.” Joriell whispered just loudly enough so they could hear him over the roaring wind. “Gem, Illia; you both should cover us from the mountain side. Delphine, Esbern, and I will flank them. With you both distracting them with your bows, we might stand a chance.”

            The girls nodded, the two quickly moving to their feet to get into position on the mountain pass. They managed to find a vantage point, surrounded by the cover of a few large boulders so they would be able to avoid attacks. Before Gem pulled out her bow, she grasped a single septim from her pouch. Kissing the golden trinket, she tossed it to the ground before muttering some type of prayer.

“I didn’t realize you prayed to the Divines.” Illia said, although she was unfamiliar with the ritual. Gem scoffed as she rolled her eyes.

“I do not waste prayers on gods I have never seen.” Gem muttered under her breath as she readied her bow. “Sorry to inform you princess, but I don’t say prayers; I only make bargains.”

“With daedra, you mean?” Illia questioned, surprised at the girl’s tone. She was cold and calculated, her eyes staring her down so sharply that Illia feared she might end up with an arrow in her back.

“Only with those who are straight-forward.” Gem replied as she fixed her eye on her target “Nocturna has always delivered on her promises to me. As long as I uphold my end, she upholds hers.”

“So what does a single coin buy you?”

“The chance to earn her a hundred more.” Gem said this time pulling her locked arrow to her cheek. Illia readied herself into position, pulling the string of her ebony bow back fully. It was like the complete extension of her arm. She didn’t realize that she had felt incomplete without it. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

“Always.” The ebony haired girl replied then fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I was planning on making this chapter longer, but I decided to leave it at a cliff hanger instead to give me motivation to write the following chapter. Midterms hit me like a fuck ton of bricks this week. (A fifteen page paper, two midterms, an interview all due within one week #FML) I should have another chapter published within a week or two. I think its best to expect something to be written once every two weeks, at least until winter break happens. When that finally occurs, I'll be able to have something published once every couple of days to once a week. That'll be sweet. If that actually works out, I'll probably have the book finished by the end of February at the latest.   
>  From here, we can basically expect a whole lot of battle and violence. The main Dragonborn questline will be the center of the story along with the Civil War. Please feel free to comment and tell me what you all are thinking. Thanks so much for all of the support :)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know its been a hot minute since I last wrote. The holidays have definitely taken up a lot of my time and I'm almost finished with my finals. And finally, I took some time to work on my original book (the one I'm hoping to have get published one day, maybe, who knows?) This chapter is short, but the events that are going to continue to happen throughout this series are basically a snowball effect. So everything the characters have done leading up to this point is going to have major consequences in the storyline. I'm pretty excited for it. As always thank you so much for reading! Feel free to comment and critique!!   
> Also, there may be times when I don't update this for a long time, trust me I WILL finish it. Stormborn is my baby and will be completed. However, I'm probably going to be adding more to Lightwood as well as another story (which should be published sometime next week). These two stories are SUPER Important!!! They translate a lot into what happens in Stormborn which is why I'm going to be focusing on them. So if you haven't checked out Lightwood, you should go do that. And keep an eye out for the new one. It will be called: Youngblood

The air was steady, her hair barely licking her face under its control. A serene sense of calm washed over Illia as she watched the arrow fly from her bow. Silent and calculating, the arrow plunged into the throat of a Forsworn as a wolf would when attacking its prey. A spray of red signaled to the rest of the encampment that they were no longer alone. And as she loaded her second arrow, the madness struck.

 

            The Forsworn, always armed and ready for battle, grasped their blades. A few of the women grasped their bows, however their aim was less than sub-par. What was terrifying was the sight of the Briarhearts. Their flesh gray and rotting, the only sign of life they carried was the open cavities in their chests where their magic possessed hearts continued to beat. But after watching Darren, after witnessing the deeds that he had accomplished; there was little any user could do to phase her.

 

            Keeping them distracted, Illia and Gem worked together in sequence. When Illia was loading another arrow, Gem was firing. When Gem was loading another arrow, Illia was firing. This combined cycle made it so that no Forsworn could gain the advantage over them between arrows. And still it felt as though it was barely enough to hold back the tide. Gem, however, remained focused as more and more waves of arrows came firing in their direction.

“Get down.” She said, grasping Illia by her shoulder and shoving her so that she was concealed by the rocks. Her blue eyes darted back, and she could see an arrow imbedded on the soil. If she hadn’t been behind the rocks, it would have killed her. Gem shot back up, firing once more. Her arrow soared through the sky, landing in the chest of a Briarheart. An explosion of magic erupted from its chest cavity. Purple, red, and green lights blinded the archers from their perch. However, it didn’t stop the Dragonborn and his party from taking the opportunity.

 

            Joriell’s blade reflected the array of lights, blinding the warriors that came charging in his path. A Forsworn male, three times the size of Vilkas and double the muscle, came sprinting in his direction. Remaining calm, the Dragonborn breathed in deeply before releasing his Thu’um.

_“Fus Roh Dah.”_

            The Forsworn soared backwards at a speed that caught Joriell off guard. Not only did the warrior get ensnared in the trap of Joriell’s words, but so did several other Forsworn, making them easy prey for Illia and Gem. However, all it did was draw more attention to the party below. Delphine and Esbern were quickly being surrounded by Forsworn. Somehow, they were managing to hold their ground, but gods knew how long they would be able to keep it up.

            Joriell narrowly avoided the blade that was aimed to swipe him across his side. The metal tore through the blue fabric of his armor, revealing the quicksilver chainmail that had laid hidden beneath. Illia sucked in a breath as she watched the battle begin to unfold, but she narrowed her blue eyes to focus on the men surrounding Delphine and Esbern. Joriell could handle his enemy, she had to trust that. Meanwhile, Gem was beginning to strap her bow to her back.

“I’m going down there.” She said unsheathing the strange blade from her hip. Concealing her face with a black mask, the girl appeared deadly in her shroud of darkness. Touching her fingertips to the ground, Illia gasped as she felt a shock of dark magic shoot through her veins. Before her very eyes, the thief vanished.

 

            Barely having a moment to blink, Gem reappeared in the center of the battlefield. Her blade clashed against one of the female warriors, defending herself against the attack as she kicked out at another fighter. Blue eyes filled with wonder, Illia was in awe as she watched the thief spin as though she were a dancer, quickly disarming and bloodying her enemies. Taking a small dagger from her thigh, Gem vanished into thin air once more before reappearing behind another enemy and driving her blade through his throat.

            Blood sprayed onto her lips causing the girl to enter a frenzy as she licked away the metallic liquid. Breathing murder and threats, she cursed as she once again defended herself against a mighty Briarheart.

            The ginger-haired thief was half the of the ghastly creature’s size; he looked as though he could break every bone in her body with a single swing of his fist. But Illia did not have time to watch as the thief battled the sorcerer.

 

            A bloody curdling screech echoed in her ears as she turned to see a Hagraven. Her talon hands were summoning forth a magic so dark, Illia thought she was becoming dizzy. The ball of crimson magic came flying in her direction, but she managed to avoid it by rolling to her right. Blackened and charred earth remained where she would have been sitting. In a swift movement, she strapped her bow to her back before unsheathing two of her daggers. The Hagraven fired another spell in her direction, but the girl was too fast. Ducking underneath the ball of flames, she pushed back up on her front leg, sending herself flying into the direction of the terrible witch. Blood sprayed from the old crone’s wound as Illia’s blades slashed into her arms and feathers.

            Taken aback, the bird woman fell back, quickly summoning a healing magic for her wounds before she tried to once again attack the girl. The spell flew from her fingers too quickly, and Illia found herself being launched over the rocks, and rolling down the valley. Wet soil clung to her armor and hair as she roughly fell. Pain shot through her arms as she collided against one of the boulders, knocking her out of breath. However, she didn’t have time to sit in the agony.

            Gritting her teeth, Illia joined the fray of battle, attacking two warriors who were attempting to get the advantage over her. Leaping into the air, she wrapped her legs around the neck of a Forsworn man before shifting her body weight to attack his partner. With a sharp movement of her legs, his neck snapped as Illia drove her blade in the throat of the second warrior, managing to land on his body as she fell. Leaping to her feet once again, she ran at the group of Forsworn that were trying to surround Gem as she battled Briarheart.  

            Gem’s brown eyes darted over her enemy, trying to find the best way to take him down, but she could feel her energy weighing heavily on her. The deal she had made with Nocturna after she had returned the Skeleton Key was slowly draining her. She would have to finish off the Briarheart quickly, or try to face him with her own power. Darting between his muscular legs, she attempted to slice at his thighs in an attempt to take him down, but still he would not stumble.

            Kicking out at her final enemy, Illia turned to see Gem underneath the burly legs of the Briarheart. At the mountain side, Illia heard the familiar screech of the Hagraven and watched a ball of ice magic came hurling in the thief’s direction. Without any hesitation, Illia threw one of her daggers into the throat of the Briarheart, and raced over to Gem. Grasping the girl, by her cloak, Illia held onto her tightly as she used the Briarheart’s body to block the attack, protecting both of them with his massive figure. The magic cut and tattered that the rotting gray flesh, ice spears piercing through his torso, but the sorcerer had already bled out. Gem grunted as she fought against the wave of magic, but relaxed as the blow finished.

“We’ve got to stop the crusty, old cunt.” Gem gritted between her teeth. However, their words were quickly interrupted by a familiar call.

 

_“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_

Hot, red flames erupted over the valley, engulfing everything in their path. Several yards from them, Joriell was breathing fire on his victims, their screams echoing against the mountain walls. The flames licked and nibbled at the fabric of his armor, destroying the material, but he remained unharmed. Yet, this did not ease the women’s worry.

            Joriell was deadly as he continued to swing his blade, unleashing carnage on all who stood in his way. Blood stained the charred grass as ash continued to rain from the sky. He was paralyzing. Illia’s heart was pounding against her chest, even Gem carried a look of terror in her eyes as she watched her friend cut down more and more Forsworn.

_“ _KRII LUN AUS!”__

A black smoke engulfed the crowds of people, who were now attempting to flee. They coughed and gagged, spitting as they fell to their knees is desperation. The shadow swallowed them up, stealing the breath from their lungs without mercy. Joriell began to breathe fire once more, unleashing his fury onto the ones who would dare stand in his way.

            The Forsworn began to flee from the valley, not even bothering to try to remain together. Like cockroaches, they scattered onto the mountain sides, survival being the only thought in their minds. Joriell watched, his blood calling him to make chase and to finish his demolition of him, but he forced himself to breathe. The last thing he could make out was Illia running towards him as he collapsed onto the ground.

 

 

 

            When Joriell awoke, he found himself lying in an unfamiliar room. Water dripped in small pools from the ceiling, vines and moss covering the massive stone walls. A single candle was lit on a table at his bedside, beside it a healing potion and other medicinal herbs. The surface he was laying on was hard and stiff, reminding him of some of the beds he had slept on in Markarth, but layers of furs and hay had been used to cushion and keep him warm. Everything smelled of sulfur and ash except for the pleasant aroma of roses and honeysuckle.

            Illia’s eyes did not leave him as she watched him absorb his surroundings. She remained silent, waiting for him to speak with patience and respect. When Joriell had collapsed on the field, he has been shallow of breath, his body weary from exhausting the Words of Power. But they had been alive, so they had continued their quest for Sky Haven Temple. The layers and layers of traps and puzzles had been tedious, but Gem had moved through them as if they were child’s play, all while she had carried Joriell on her back. At one point in time, she didn’t think she would have been strong enough to accomplish such a feet, but months of endless fighting had strengthened her muscles and her resolve.

            She had always known Joriell was powerful, had always known that he struggled with the nature of his blood right. After what she had witnessed in the valley, she now knew the extent of it. The look on his face, filled with rage, bloodlust, and domination; this was not the Joriell she had come to know and love. For months, he had been gathering the souls of dragons, taking them into his own spirit, and making it his own. Now it seems that the dragon blood within him was determined to come out.

“Illia…” His voice was smooth like honey. His hand reached for hers and she replied, allowing her smooth fingers to interlock with his callused palms. He still looked exhausted, his eyes dark from lack of sleep. How long had it been since he had actually rested? “Did we make it?”

“Yes, we are at Sky Haven Temple,”

“And Alduin’s Wall?”

“Esbern is studying it now, trying to decipher the language.” She whispered, feeling a new scar that extended the left side of his palm to the right. She hadn’t liked cutting him while he slept, but there was no other way to unlock the entrance of the temple; it had been sealed with a blood wound. No doubt Joriell would question it in due time. But with how many scars they had managed to accumulate in their journey together, she wondered if he really would notice.

            Almost two years had passed since she had first arrived in Skyrim. Whiterun had fallen to the Stormcloaks, the dragons were still threatening the skies, and she was still running from her parents’ oaths: They needed to finish this. The dragons had to be defeated, Alduin had to be destroyed. They could no longer waste time on empty feuds and broken promises. All they had to rely on was each other. They all had one purpose: to help Joriell fulfill his destiny, to destroy Alduin once and for all. And yet, Illia feared what they would lose in order to accomplish that.

“Rest now, love.” She whispered, “I will be here when you wake.” Joriell nodded, his eyes growing heavy once more before he drifted in the dull embrace of sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first off, I know in the last chapter I published I promised to have 4 chapters. Unfortunately, I computer went haywire and deleted the four chapters I was going to upload on Sunday. Needless to say, I was extremely depressed and cried but I had to rewrite the chapters. Life continues onward. I hope you all had a Happy New Year and Christmas! I'll try to have the other chapter published by the end of next week. Thanks for being so patient!! :) Feel free to comment and critique

_“Illia…”_

_A voice echoed along the soft winds, the scent of pine and musk dancing along with the breeze, so close Illia could taste it. Opening her blue eyes, she drank in the vision of Sovngarde; the winter green grass twirling and dancing with the pull of the wind, the newly bloomed blossoms and crystal orbs followed along its current, surrounding her before disappearing on its path. The sky was littered with stars, endless streams of them, so bright that they rivaled the sun with their beauty. In the distance, a bridge made of whale bones extended across a dazzling river, leading to a gilded hall where the smells of rich, succulent meats and wine tantalized the senses. All the while men of all shapes and sizes; Nords and Imperials, Stormcloak and Supporters of the Empire, Mages and Warriors; traveled along the beaten paths towards the great hall where the booming voices of the ancient warriors could be heard echoing throughout the land._

_“Illia…” Farkus nearly blended in among the silvery armor of the approaching warriors. His eyes were the same shade of silver. his skin warmer and pink with color. His arm locked with hers, protective and warm, and for a moment, she rested her head on his shoulder._

_“Is this real?”_

_He locked her in a bear hug, knocking out of breath and she couldn’t stop laughing. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, falling down her face in silvery droplets. So much time had passed since he had found peace in Sovngarde. He looked…happy._

_“Oh, how I’ve miss you, Shield Sister.” He whispered, “Tell me, how are the Companions? How is Vilkas?”_

_“Married.” Illia replied with a smile “Ria has already given birth to one beautiful baby girl, and it seems another is on the way.”_

_“I always knew that he had it in him.” Said Farkus “Vilkas always wanted a family, although he tried to play it strong and brooding. Anyone who saw him and Ria together the first time knew that she had him wrapped around her little finger.”_

_Illia laughed, looking out towards the crowds of people once more. So many were heading towards the great hall, ready to feast until the final battle. It seemed even in death, the thrill of battle was never ceasing. Farkus looked in the same direction, his eyes more focused on the horizon than the hall._

_“This isn’t real, is it?” Illia asked “I have been here before, under control of Alduin’s trap. He’s still consuming the souls of the lost.”_

_“Yes…” he said, his smile masking the weariness of his face. “But, that is not why I was allowed to bring you here. There is something I must show you.”_

_He took her hand, leading her away from the crowds of men towards another meadow. In the distance, she could hear a small child’s laughter. She went to move towards it, but Farkus held her back, continuing to guide her towards the meadow. Amongst the wild flowers and ferns, she watched an elven woman with flowing red tresses picking among the herbs. In her hand, a golden magic transformed the blooms, so they were brighter than before._

_She was the most beautiful Bosmer Illia had ever seen, her skin kissed by the sun, her eyes a golden shade of amber. Despite the sharp point of her chin, her features were gentle and kind. Intricate tattoos laced up her forearms before pausing at her collar bone._

_“Who is she?” Illia asked_

_“You will meet her soon enough along with another-although, I think you’ll struggle with the latter woman.” Farkus smiled “You should trust them. They may pretend otherwise, but they’re good people.”_

_“Joriell, he is- “_

_“He is facing the call of the blood---he’s not a stranger to it.” Farkus said “Gifts are not given freely. He will need your help. He may have passed the trial of the beast blood, but Akatosh has always had more sway than Hircine.”_

_“You know that I would do anything for him.” Illia said, her hand tightening around Farkus’s. “I love him.”_

_“Then do not be a dumb oaf and leave him again. I heard a whisper of that on the wind and I wanted to throttle you for that, stupid girl.” The warrior smiled warmly, His hand loosened from hers before he turned to brush the strands of her raven hair away from her face. “I have seen the things that are to come, bits and pieces of the future. Your role will not be finished after Joriell has completed his goals.”_

_“Then he will succeed.”_

_“He will.” The warrior assured her. “I can say no more, but you will have your freedom.”_

            Illia opened her eyes with a start.  On the other side of her room, Gem’s steady breathing could be heard as she continued to rest. She had been like that since they finally found the temple, exhausted from her reliance on her daedric lord’s skills. Illia had been surprised that the girl had any religion at all; thieves were not known for it. However, she feared for her safety. She doubted the price for such power was simply sacrificing a gold coin.

            Illia stood, hearing the clamoring of books in the main hall, not far from where their room was. The temple was beautiful despite that it was in ruins. Thick green vines and vegetation had made its way through the bricks, causing gold beams of light to filter in through the cracks. In the center of the great stone hall was a table with enough chairs to host the Companions and even more so.

            Delphine and Esbern were tearing through books, continuing their efforts to try to decipher the old Akaviri language. Esbern ran his hand through his wispy, white hair. He looked haggard and weary, his gray eyes dull.  Delphine smiled at him, trying to encourage without words, and it seemed to soothe him. He took her hand and squeezed it lightly before returning to his work. Choosing not to disturb them further, Illia made her way towards the great balcony.

 

            The morning light was a sight to behold. The sky was like a painting; pink, orange, yellow, and red streaks bleeding across the canvas. The golden sun was peeking over the snowy peaks of the mountains, playfully saying hello. It was hard to believe a land so stricken with war could still be so beautiful.

The familiar whipping of thin metal cutting through the air caught Illia’s attention. Joriell was practicing his use of arms, his muscles exposed to the brutal winds and elements. His forest eyes were focused on the strong and swift movements of his blade; the Skyforge steel unwavering in its resolve. Glittering beads of sweat drifted down his naval and back, causing his body to glisten in the sun. How long had he been awake?

“It’s been a long time since I’ve caught you gawking at me.” He grinned, sheathing his blade before grasping a towel to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

“I was not gawking.” Illia teased “That would require there being something to gawk at.”

“I’m hurt.” He replied sarcastically. “Most people would jump at the chance to gawk at the Dragonborn.”

            “I’m not most people.” She said. He was so close to her now, the heat of his body sending goosebumps across her skin. It was so tempting to reach out and touch him. Instead, she pushed him away gently and unsheathed her blade. “I don’t think you’re done with your sparring practice today.”

 

            Joriell smiled, unsheathing his blade and tossing his shield to the side.  They circled each other for the moment, waiting for someone to make the first move. The wind picked up, catching Illia’s hair and blinding her momentarily. In a quick burst of force, Joriell charged in her direction, but the girl was prepared. Illia shifted to her right, barely avoiding Joriell’s blow, but then kicked at the back of his knee. He fell almost instantly, and she placed the hilts of her blades against his back and throat.

“I think you forgot who you are sparring against.” Illia quipped. Joriell grinned and whispered a word. His body shifted and changed, turning to that of a spirit. He easily slipped away from her grasp, and turned to face her once more.

“I think you forgot who you’re sparring against.” Joriell said, “I’ve learned a great deal since last time we practiced.”

            His blade clashed against her daggers, catching her off-guard and sending her staggering. He laughed, the cocky bastard that he was, before moving to make another attack. Illia glared, determined to make him regret that. She flipped over his shoulder, sending him charging into one of the nearby tables that were seated around the balcony. She heard a bottle of ale smash against the stone, a few apples followed its descent to the ground. Illia grinned, but her victory was cut short as a pie came launching in her direction, the sticky cinnamon and apple filling covering her hair and armor.

“Did you just throw a pie at me?” she stood in utter disbelief. Joriell could not contain his laughter, his voice throaty and bellowing as he watched her tried to pick the sticky apples and crumbs and pieces out of her hair. Despite the annoyance, she grinned. Something elated in her at the sight of seeing his smile. It had been a long time since she had seen him so content. However, her pride could not let him go unpunished.

            Walking over to one of the opposite tables, she grasped a bottle of ale and shook the bottle. Before Joriell realized her goal, a spray of ale was drenching him, causing him to reek of liquor and honey.

 

With that, the war began.

 

            Apples, ale, pies, sweet rolls; all of them were being tossed between them in a spray of liquor and cream. Pushing one of the tables over, Illia ducked for cover as a platoon of pies came flying in her direction; the sticky guts and crumbs ruining her hair, but her defenses protected her from most of the damage. She stood, sweet roll at the ready, when she realized that somehow between the first barrage of pies and second barrage of honey treats, Joriell had managed to get his hands on his shield as was slowly approaching.

            Her ammunition changed, and quickly she was tossing apples in the direction of the shield, although it did not seem to deter his advancement. Switching tactics, she shook two bottles of ale and sprinted in his direction. Clearly, he had not been expecting it for he cried out at the chill of the liquor as it slithered down his back and naval. However, he countered, smashing an entire pie in Illia’s hair, fully convincing her that she would smell like apples of weeks to come. She looked up at him, a mixture of crumbs and glaze hanging from her brow and burst into laughter.

            Joriell was soaked in ale, pieces of sweet roll and frosting smashed against his face. He appeared lighter as if he had been needing some semblance of fun for quite some time. They hardly had moments like this; when they could just enjoy each other’s company, no matter the consequences to Illia’s hair. However, the joy quickly evaporated as they heard someone clear their throat.

 

            Gem stood at the stop of the stairs, her brown eyes filled with an unspoken anger. She looked as though she would cut them down with a single glance, although it was clear her rage was more directed towards Illia than anyone. The girl was confused. Hadn’t she just saved Gem’s life? What reason could she have for looking at her with such disdain? However, her eyes turned to Joriell who looked down in shame.

“There are a few baths inside.” Gem said coldly “I suggest you both use them and then meet us in the main hall. It looks like Esbern might have found something.”

            With a click of her heels, she turned course and walked away. Illia felt her heart shatter, although she knew that she had no right to be hurt. She had left Joriell. It would only make since that he would try to move on. But still…it hurt too damn much.

“I’m going to go bathe.” She said finally, her voice barely a whisper as she turned to leave.

“Illia-“

“Please, Joriell.” She then ignored him, heading towards the bathhouse to hide the tears that were burning at the back of her eyes.

 

 

            It took a good thirty minutes, but she had finally washed away the stickiness from her hair. After a quick scrubbing, the leather and metal of her armor was as good as new, although the smell of mead still clung to the fabric. After roughly brushing through her hair, she made her way towards the main hall to find everyone surrounding a book which Esbern showed proudly. If Delphine and the old man were aware of the drama brewing within their party, they did not lead it on. Perhaps they didn’t care. Either way, Illia was grateful.

            Joriell had finished bathing sooner than she had, his hair still damp from the warm water. However, she did not meet his gaze and she could feel his eyes burning into her. She wasn’t angry, not really. But whatever had transpired between the Dragonborn and the thief was clearly not resolved. She wasn’t going to play any games. They didn’t have time for them.

            Illia was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn’t register that Esbern had been speaking and that was plan was already being formed.

“A Shout?” Gem asked, “What Shout?”

“We don’t know.” Delphine said, “Whatever the word was, the ancient Nords never documented it, but the wall translates that they had used one in order to defeat Alduin.”

“Nocturna’s tits, were the Nords really so stupid that they didn’t write down the damn Shout they used in order to defeat the Bringer of End Times?” Gem cursed in frustration, muttering other profanities in a muted whisper. “I don’t know about you, Esbern, but the more we learn about your ancestors, the more I question the ‘ancient wisdom’ they carried.”

“Aren’t they your ancestors too?” Illia quipped before she could think better of it. Gem stared at her with a gaping mouth and deadly expression. Heat flared in Illia’s chest as she felt her own temper rising. How dare she? The other day she had saved her ass from a Briarheart and Hagraven, had healed her wounds after she had made a deal with a Daedra; and now she had the audacity to glare at her. She didn’t give a damn about what had transpired between her and Joriell. If she continued to disrespect her, the rogue was going to beat her into submission. “Last I checked, Nords and elves gave rise to the Bretons.”

“Last I checked, no one asked for your opinion, princess.”

 

            Illia stood, fists clenched and at the ready. The thief seemed surprised, but stood ready to fight. But before anything more could take place, Joriell was already in the middle, seething. Before Delphine could say a word, he had already begun in admonishing them.

“Enough! This is getting us nowhere!” he growled, between clenched teeth. “Both of you need to learn your place and to work together.”

“We were fine without her!” Gem spat in her rage, no longer thinking clearly. “The only reason she is here now is because of the twitching of your cock!”

“And if I recall, the only reason you and I are still alive today is because of her!” Joriell’s eyes were like fire, burning through Gem in a way that would have sent most running. Instead she stood silent, knuckles white from her clenched fists. “If you cannot control yourself, if you cannot work together, then leave. There is enough going on between the Stormcloaks and Imperials and now the fucking dragons---everyone is against us right now. We can’t afford to be enemies with each other.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Gem glared, before turning away in her rage. She stormed off into what Illia assumed was the library of Sky Haven Temple. Joriell glared as she walked off, although there was something unreadable looming over his eyes. Illia didn’t know what it was, couldn’t be certain if she was imagining, but even it was there, she had no interest in knowing what he felt.

 

“Well, then, we’ll just fill her in later.” Esbern said finally, bringing the attention back to the book. “A Shout was used in the efforts to defeat Alduin. But it appears to have been lost centuries ago. However, it is unlikely that the ancient Nords would not pass it along in their wisdom and knowledge, meaning-“

“It’s likely the Greybeards will know where it is.” Joriell said, his ire slowly soothing as he focused on his real enemy. Gem would have to wait. Alduin would always be more important. His eyes moved to Illia, but still she did not meet his eyes, her irises fixated the movement of Esbern’s mouth.

“Exactly.” Esbern said “You must go to them Dragonborn, from there we will be able to find a way to find the Shout, if not we might as well fall into our graves now.”

“We’ll leave at first light.” Said Joriell “That gives us times to gather up our supplies and rest before the journey.”

“You should speak with Gem.” Delphine said, suddenly. Her eyes looked tired and weary, annoyed by the sexual escapades of the Dragonborn. Life would be so much easier if they simply focused on Alduin. Illia couldn’t help but agree with her unspoken words. “We still need her. Her connections in Riften have been vital, and beyond that she is your friend. We all don’t have to get along.” Her eyes went to Illia, staring through her with judgement. It made Illia’s stomach spin in circles. “But we can respect each other. It is our job to help the Dragonborn complete his destiny. What happens between now and when he faces Alduin doesn’t matter.”

 

            With that, the woman took Esbern to the side, discussing further plans, leaving Joriell and Illia alone.

           

The silence was deafening.

 

“Illia,” Joriell finally started “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Joriell.”

“I meant every word I said to you.” He said, ignoring her ire. Her eyes were focused on the tables, her fingers digging into the stone edge to the point she thought her fingers would start to bleed. “I was going to tell you, I just—I didn’t know how.”

            Her mind went to Darren. She wasn’t angry at Joriell for moving onto the thief, no matter how much of an unsavory character she was. She hadn’t remained faithful as well. Except, instead of physical sense, she had emotionally betrayed Joriell. What she and Darren had done in the Void hadn’t been physical in a bodily sense, but their spirits had entwined with one another. Through it, his magic had healed her of her psychological wounds. But whatever the reason had been, she had done it. She had no right to be angry.

            She was angry that what had transpired between Joriell and Gem was affecting them now. That she was being treated with disrespect by a stranger who hardly knew her. Although she would never admit it now, she was grateful to Gem. Gem had saved Joriell’s life when she had been unable to, had helped him in carrying out his quest in her absence. It was hard to hate a person who had helped the person she loved so much.

            She hated to admit it, but things had changed.

 

Joriell, whether he realized it or not, had fallen for another. She had as well. And as much as she loved him and wanted to be with him, she couldn’t allow their affair affect all of Tamriel. The world couldn’t play victim to their courtship.

“I know.” She said, finally after a very long pause. “I love you as well. But Delphine is right, we can’t risk our goal—not when we are so close.”

“What are you saying?”

“We should take things slowly, Joriell.” She said “We can’t pretend that I didn’t leave. That you didn’t love another. If the gods will us together then at the end of all of this, we will be.” She approached him, placing a hand on his cheek. He saw the anger flare in his eyes, his chest raising to protest but her touch stopped him. “I will wait for you. Take time to discern whether I am actually what you want. Fix your relationship with Gem, whether it is as friends or something more.”

“Illia, I love you.”

“And I love you too.” She said “Which is why, I’m telling you to do this. Or else, you will regret it. She matters to you too. Do not forget that.”

            He nodded, finally, although he hated every moment of it. Illia’s words were full of grace, understanding-he had not expected it. But beyond that, they were full of truth. He may have ‘ended’ things with Gem, but they were not resolved. She deserved better from him. He gave Illia a quick hug, only lingering a moment before he turned in the direction of the library.

            It was then, in the silence of hall, Illia felt truly alone. She had to finally come to terms with what she had done, the ugliness that she had carried. She had caused so much destruction. And for the first time in months, she finally felt her heart.

And it was breaking.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, got the next chapter up for you guys. I'm super excited for writing the next chapter, but it may take a couple weeks because it's extensive and I also am going back to school. :( However, I hope you guys enjoy the newest chapter. :)

Joriell entered the library of Sky Haven Temple only to be greeted with a book being launched at break-neck speed in his direction. The once priceless artifact, filled with the history of the ancient Blades fell apart in pieces on the floor, the pages forever torn and ruined. Not that Gem necessarily cared, although he thought that maybe the thief would realize the intelligence in selling these old scrolls to the College of Winterhold. No doubt they would catch a fair price.

“Genevieve.” He started, but was quickly interrupted by another flying book.

“Don’t call me that.” Said Gem, her mind clearly made up in her opinion of him “You don’t have the right to call me that anymore.”

            He stood silent. What could he say? Sorry that I’m in love with a woman who abandoned me when things got too hard? Sorry that I slept with you? Sorry that I’m tossing you aside for her? Sorry for breaking your trust?

The words just turned to ashes in his mouth.

There wasn’t anything he could say.

            Talos be damned, why was she still there? She should have done the cold thing, the calculated thing, the ‘Gem’ thing; the smarter decision would have been to rob them blind in their sleep and then abandon the party to whatever fate had in store for them. Gem found herself asking the same damn question. Then reaching the same damn conclusion: she cared.

And she _hated_ it.

“Is there something wrong with me?” The question escaped her lips before she could think otherwise. She had been battling that thought for days now, ever since Illia had joined their camp. Ysmir’s beard, she wanted to hate the girl. Wanted to hate her for being such a fierce fighter, for being better than her in that regard. Wanted to hate her for being so beautiful, even if she was covered in burns and scars. Wanted to hate her for being kind and taking care of her and protecting her even though she was a stranger. Wanted to hate her for being such a smartass.

But she didn’t.

            In fact, in any other damnable circumstances, Illia would have been someone that Gem wanted to call a friend. She understood her reasons for leaving the Dragonborn. Hell, she admired her tenacity for removing her enemy by any means necessary. Gem had the same mindset, the same tactics. In more than one way, Gem admired and respected her. But now…

_Fuck…why did Joriell do this to her?_

            She felt like such a child. Her emotions should have never gotten the better of her like that. It was his fault. She had never been like this until him. But of course, he was the fucking Dragonborn. Savior of the Tamriel…it wasn’t possible for him to be the asshole. So, it had to be her fault, right?

“Gem, there is nothing wrong with you.” Joriell said. He wanted her to understand—He had to make her understand. Yet, he couldn’t. How do you tell someone who is everything you could have ever wanted that they aren’t the one? That something about it wasn’t right. Sometimes the literal answer is ‘It’s not you, it’s me’. But nothing about that sat well on his tongue. “I can’t make you understand, Gem. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

“Of course, I have!” She was immediately on the defense, her fingers tightening their grip on the silver ring…Brynjolf’s ring. Joriell noticed the movement, noticing the way she twisted the blue gem with the raven insignia. It wasn’t the first time he had ever seen her do it. He had never questioned it, figured that she would tell him in her own time. But maybe she never would.

“Who was he?”

            Gem fought back the burning tears in her eyes, clenching her fists tighter at the thought of him. She had become quite good at pretending that the pain didn’t linger. Almost a year ago, it would have been impossible for her to get out of bed. It was silly how much humanity was capable of handling. The more she thought on it, the angrier it made her at the gods.

            In their all-powerful wills, where were they when Brynjolf was taken from her? What kind of a gift was freewill when it allowed others to destroy another person’s future? She would have been married by now…rich and off on adventures with the love of her life. But no—those fucking gods wanted her to be here with Joriell, heartbroken, angry, and jealous. What a wonderful fucking choice that was.

            If only Brynjolf were there…if only she had killed Mercer before he casted his spell…if only-if only—fuck these ‘if only’s’. It made her sound like a wallowing spinster. She was young, she was good looking, she was a hell-cat in bed; surely the gods would will another man into her future. Yet, they had willed Joriell…the fucking Dragonborn…the fucking Messiah of Tamriel; Of course, this was going to end badly for him. She knew it, and deep down, she was sure he knew it too.

            The Blood of Akatosh was slowly stealing him away; it had been for months. She had seen glimpses of it in his misery; The way only battle seemed to renew his spirit before he would once again bask in the drink. He had only gathered one other dragon soul in their time together, but surely the amount of time he carried them within his spirit was making the effects worse. It wasn’t until his outburst while battling the Forsworn that Gem realized the full extent of it; maybe Illia did too.

            She couldn’t abandon him now, even if she wanted to, and oh, did she long to. To have her freedom back, where he wouldn’t ask her questions that pried his way deeper into her heart. She had built those walls long ago, and had lived a long and peaceful life with them fully erect. She was happy if they would just stay that way. Gem had no intentions of allowing some wanna-be hero sending her into another crippling depression at his death.

“He’s dead as will you be by the end of this all.” She said finally, after along time of fighting the tears and bile from forming in her throat. She spat on the floor where she saw an insignia of the dragon. For a group of people that hated the dov, the Blades sure did like to plaster them everywhere. “Hell, we’ll probably all be dead by the end of this.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Shut me out like that.” Said Joriell, maintaining the composure in his voice although he was prepared to dodge another flying book if he needed to. None came so he continued to speak. “Can’t you see, Gem? You’ve done this throughout all our travels together. You’ve bared my burdens, the burdens of Maven, the burdens of the Guild; yet, you have never once let me be there to support you.”

            “I don’t understand. Am I supposed to allow you to ‘bear my burdens’ before or after you run off with some slut from the Imperial Province?” Gem spat, watching his features tighten as he fought the urge to defend Illia’s honor. He didn’t and for once she was grateful. She didn’t want to fight about whether or not Illia was a whore; it was a battle she knew she would lose and it wasn’t important anyways. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Dovahkiin, but I have no intentions of ever letting you, or any other pranced up hero getting close to me again. You either die, or you turn out to be an asshole.”

“Genevieve—” Another book went flying in his direction.

“I told you never to call me that!” she yelled, struggling to contain her tears any longer. “Only one man has ever had the right to call me that, and you will never be him!”

            She was so angry, her fists shaking and white. Tears, as hot as fire, fell in streams down her cheeks. She bit her cheek in defiance, trying to will her body to control itself. Of course, it wouldn’t.

“Just get out.”

“Gem-“

“I said ‘Get out!’” Another book went tumbling in his direction, bursting into a million pieces as it clashed with the stone floor. For the first time, it appeared that the Dragonborn was defeated. As quietly as he had entered, he disappeared once more.

It felt good to finally be alone, to cry freely without having to worry about some stranger entering her sanctuary. She let the sobs overtake her, allowing the peace of their release to wash over her in a glorious rain of sorrow and heartache. She hadn’t cried like this in a long time, and she doubted it would be the last. Gem was certain that Joriell would return to the woman he loved—not that she doubted that he loved her in some fucked up way as well—but the point was that Gem was certain that Illia would weep with her as well. If life had taught her anything, there was no such thing as happy endings. Mercer was dead, but it had cost her Brynjolf. For Alduin to die, it was sure to cost them so much more.

 

 

            There was something so relieving in the stillness of returning home from battle. The familiar heavy furniture, the chill that clung to the air like an old friend; all of it reminded Ulfric that he had a home to go back too, a country that he would do anything to defend.

Whiterun had finally been taken.

From it, he knew that the war would only charge forward from there. Next, they would once again take back the Reach and the other western provinces. Until finally, he would take his soldiers to the doorstep of the Imperial itself: Solitude. There, he would fight for what he knew rightfully belonged to the sons and daughters of Skyrim; their freedom. The Moot would decide who would take the crown, no doubt it would be his. However, tradition was important to his people and he would not take it from them. It was tradition that won him his battle against the High King.

            He had already decided long ago that he would keep Elisif, the High King’s widow, alive. He had no intention of adding the widow’s blood onto his hands. She was just another innocent collateral in Empire’s warpath. If he could, he would do all he could to make sure she was taken care of after their impending victory. However, he wasn’t certain if he could maintain peace in Whiterun for long.

Too many innocent people had died; more of his brethren’s blood had been spilt than he had ever anticipated. He loathed it, agonized over every moment of it. He had never wanted _this_ ; he had only ever dreamed of a free country, of freedom to worship his god. Never this, never of war and death.

 

            It seemed so long ago that he had been studying with the Greybeards, learning the Way of the Voice. He had loved it, felt peace from knowing that the world could fall away so easy. It was as if the veil of the despair had melted away and that the dov had known the ways and wisdom of the world that men could never seem to quite understand. And yet life was never quite so simple.

            The dilemma with the Way of the Voice is that it was too idealistic. It was written under the guise that one could love no one, could cherish no one. In order to be free from the world, one could no be attached by any means; whether it be through hatred or love. All of it must be abandoned.

            Love had been his failure.

Upon hearing his father’s death, he had been filled with vengeance against those who had taken away his family. He had abandoned his teaching to wage war against the elves; and he had failed. He had been captured and tortured for months, returned only by the saving grace of his brothers in arms. What had the Empire done?

            They had signed away their freedom and the freedom of his countrymen to the elves: the bastards who had tortured him and killed his family. Not just his family, but the families of all their countrymen.

            The weak foundation on which their country had been built on needed to be tore apart and rebuilt. No more would they suckle from the Emperor’s teat. Illia Stormborn had seen to that. In the girl’s final hours, she had rid the Empire of its leader and for just cause. The more he had observed, the more he was certain that she would have been the queen that Skyrim needed. But according to all reports, she had been killed in the attempt. However, something in the letter from his informant caught his attention, making him doubt if the girl had truly fallen.

            His fingers traced over the dried ink as if he could receive some hidden secret from the symbols and letters. He should have felt betrayed when she abandoned him a second time. He had been enraged at first when he learned the news that Darren, a man he believed to be his friend and ally, had betrayed him in order to return her to the Companions in Whiterun. However, the more his mind lingered on the idea of her running about, the more he believed it would be best for her. So much time had passed since she had first arrived on the shores of Skyrim. Part of him wished that he would have been there to lay eyes on her when she first arrived.

However, the gods had willed for her to leave, to grow in her strength and her wisdom. They had willed for her to serve the Dragonborn, to bare his burdens. They had willed for Japheth and Lyanna to die at the Emperor’s hands and for her to experience the same tortures that he had faced. And now, she had removed the head of the Empire; removed the head of the wolf. She knew now the flaws of her previous kingdom. Skyrim had morphed her into a woman worthy of the land; a daughter after her own heart.

 

 

 

 

**** **My king,**

**I congratulate you on your victory over Whiterun; a true Nord has been placed on the thrown. Talos be praised.**

**However, I bring word from Solitude. The Emperor, Tiber Septim, has been assassinated by a member of the Dark Brotherhood. However, the assassin accused was identified as Illia Stormborn, from Cyrodiil. Word has spread that she was killed in the attempt, although no body has been found.**

**My sincerest apologies, my Jarl. She died as a true warrior, defending the freedom of her kin. May her soul find its way to Sovngarde.**

**As for the mage, Darren, there has been little word. It is believed that he had been travelling with the lady for quite some time, However, there has been no further information as to his location.**

**Many have been lost in the battle for Skyrim’s freedom, but Talos has blessed our cause. Your men are backing your eventual accession to the throne. We will not fail you.**

  * **U.G**



His words echoed in his mind over and over again. He could not fail Skyrim; he would not fail Skyrim. He knew, in the depths of his being, beyond a shadow of a doubt; Illia Stormborn was alive. But he would not call upon her to fulfill her promise in her letter. He would win Skyrim. The Empire would come later.


	31. Chapter 31

Hello guys,

So, I know that you were looking for a chapter…unfortunately you have this letter instead.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this story over the past several months now, which is part of the reason why I’ve been so infrequent in my updates. There are certain twists and turns in the tale that at the time seemed like they fit, but I don’t think fit the direction of how I want the story to go. So, I will not be updating Stormborn until March 1st. During this month long duration, I am going to be completely overhauling the previous chapters that I have written.

Rest assured, not everything is going to change. Most of the chapters in the beginning will remain the same, however, there will be new additional chapters going more in depth with the developing relationship between Joriell and Illia. (hint: we will be taking a closer look at what happened over their 6 months of traveling.) Some relationships will completely change—however, I believe this will be better for the characters and for the overall plot of the story.

I apologize if this makes anyone upset; that is not my intention. I have a vision in my brain of who the characters are and what their story is, and I want to give you guys the best possible tale that you guys could read.

I will be leaving this version of Stormborn up until I finish the newer version.

Lots of love guys! And remember; Eyes on the prey, not the horizon.

 

Sincerely,

M. Winter Knights

 


	32. Chapter 32

Hello friends,

 

So, it has been approximately two months now since I said I was going to have the new Stormborn published. Since then, you would think I’d have the new chapters written and edited. Hahaha, so did I until I was hit with Murphy’s Law (everything that can go wrong will go wrong).

 

To say the least, I had some pretty scary family health concerns that came up. One of them included my dad being in the ICU for a week. Then, college is rough. I’m a junior so classes are all upper division and much tougher. Then my job was a lot a more time consuming because we hit our busy season. Needless to say, I’ve been very busy. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I’m here to talk about our favorite Nord Heroine: Stormborn.

 

So, changing a few chapters suddenly turned into a huge plot overhaul. Aka I know how many chapters Stormborn is going to be. (It will be in the 50’s) And I have the chapters laid out and prepared to be written for this summer. The goal will be for me to publish 3-4 chapters every month, but I also struggle with time crunches (If you couldn’t guess I procrastinate a lot in college). But I PROMISE that the first chapter of the new Stormborn will be published this upcoming week. I’ve been working on it for a while and it’s looking to be about 12-13 pages. So that’s an addition 6-7 pages longer than the first draft. There is a lot more detail and some big changes. Thank you to those who have been patient and understanding. I really appreciate you!!!

 

        Sincerely,

            M. Winter Knights

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, so this is my first fanfiction ever. I've literally only written my own stories before so this is definitely new territory for me. I love feedback so please tell me what you guys think. :)   
>  This fanfiction follows many different story lines within the Elder Scrolls V. Many original characters will come to life as the chapters come together, but the main character will be the original character of Illia. I do not own Skyrim, all rights go to Bethesda. I just loved the game, loved the story, and wanted to create an even richer story line for people to follow. I'll be working to publish a new chapter at least every week so please stay tuned guys. I do plan on potentially making this a series, but that kind of depends on how this book goes. :D


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